Blood and Ice
by softfawnbabe
Summary: Ramsay has loved Sansa since they met as children. He has watched over her somewhat since then, borderline stalking her as he gets older. When he is legitimized as Roose Bolton's son, he finally has a chance to be with the fair and beautiful Sansa. One problem; she's crushing on Theon Greyjoy, despite his betrayal of the Stark Family.
1. Chapter 1

The snowfall was light and gentle, and a young boy sleeping in an alleyway could barely feel it tickling his nose and fingertips. He was only nine years old, and this young boy's name was Ramsay Snow.

Morning light crept into the alley he slept in, the sun hitting his icy eyes and causing him to squint as he awoke. He never understood why his father wouldn't let him stay in the Dreadfort with him. He knew he was a bastard, but he never understood why it made him any less worthy of a family. The boy shakily got up, looking around at the common people setting up shop around him. Bakers, tailors, servants to Roose Bolton- the father who never acknowledged him.

Ramsay sighed and sat back down. He'd sneak into the castle and steal some scraps later, if he wasn't shooed away by castle staff first. He sat on the ground, sharpening a small flint knife he had been working on for a while. The various other bastards and orphans living around here were not exactly a friendly bunch.

That's when he noticed a commotion, as his hateful father walked out of the castle with his wife he had recently wed- a fat woman he hadn't ever gotten the chance to meet. He couldn't help but wonder what they were doing there- until he noticed another group enter the courtyard. A family with a wolf sigil- the Starks. He couldn't help but be curious, so he snuck out of his alleyway in order to get a view of the Starks. He just felt drawn to them; he didn't know why and didn't bother to put a finger on it.

He stealthily slipped through the crowds, and there they were. Ned Stark, his wife, and his children. Five, and she was pregnant with another. Two older boys, though one was a bastard like Ramsay himself and therefore not as acknowledged as his other siblings. A younger girl who looked as scrappy as a boy, a little baby being carried by a nurse...and an older girl, only maybe a year or two younger than Ramsay. She had fire red hair, and eyes as blue as Catelyn Stark. The little lady certainly had some Tully in her.

Ramsay thought this girl was absolutely beautiful. At his age, most girls were icky, but the fire-haired girl was a different story. He'd caught a crush on her, though he knew a poor bastard like him would never have a chance to even be his friend. He decided to return to sitting by a merchant's cart, plotting to steal something from it. Maybe he could keep a little warmer with a scarf, or he could find himself entertained with a little book, or maybe someone would pity him and give him something.

"Mother...the Boltons scare me…" Sansa spoke softly, clinging to her mother. "Why do they have a dead man as their sigil?"

Catelyn sighed, stroking her eldest daughter's red locks. Though she was older than Arya, she seemed more fragile and sweet- like a princess, where as Arya was a little lady knight.

"Oh Sansa, when they catch their enemies, that's what they do to them." Catelyn explained calmly. "Don't worry, it isn't like they would try to do that do father and I. We're their friends"

Sansa didn't feel much better about it. The Dreadfort itself was dark, and just eerie. She never felt fearful in any other castle. Neither Riverunn or Pyke created the same sickening atmosphere that the Dreadfort did. For now, the young girl began to grow curious. She saw other people wandering about, common people, naturally. Still, she was curious about their lives, having lived as noble girl all her life. Seeing she had a coin or two in her pocket, she looked at some merchants' wares.

That's when she spotted a boy sitting by the cart, maybe a year or two older than she, trying to take a journal from the cart without getting caught. She walked over and took the journal, buying it off of the vendor.

The raven-haired boy looked at her with frustration, crossing his arms. Sansa giggled, handing him the book.

"Consider it a gift!" She said, handing him the leatherbound journal. She didn't think much of it, just that it was a present for a young boy in need. She was a kind person, and knowing she was a lady, she wanted commonfolk to like her and think of her as generous.

Ramsay looked at her in surprise, his icy eyes widening.

"A gift? For me?" The young boy had never received one before, and was deeply grateful. This fire haired girl had changed his life. She'd shown him kindness like never before. The Gods must have willed them to meet. He felt like he had to know more, he had to get to know her.

"Thank you, my lady" He said, standing up. "My name is Ramsay Snow-"

"Sansa Stark, what are you doing?" An elder male voice asked, looking down at her and grabbing her arm.

"I'm sorry Robb..." She said, her head down. "I just wanted to help him and be his friend."

Robb sighed. "Ladies don't talk to bastards" He explained, taking her away. Sansa gave one last wave to her friend before walking away with her brother. She didn't understand what a bastard was, much less why she shouldn't be friends with one.

"Robbie, everyone deserves friends. Even bastards" Sansa said to the boy of fourteen, who simply rolled his eyes in response.

"Mother and father would never stand for that. It's dishonourable to interact with those sorts of people. Someday you'll understand" Robb explained, taking her back to their parents.

Ramsay watched Sansa and her brother depart, still seeing her beautiful face in his mind. She was the sweetest person he had ever interacted with. She gave him a gift, something nobody had ever even considered doing before. The Gods have willed it so. She was meant for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa walked to her bedroom, after a long night of celebrating her sixteenth name-day. She seemed happy, but also exhausted. She'd received many gifts; jewelry, dresses, books- anything a noble northern girl would ever desire. She'd danced the night away with her crush, Theon Greyjoy, and enjoyed a hearty feast. However, as she changed into her nightgown, ready to go to sleep, she noticed something off about her bed.

"Huh…" Before she decided to actually get in bed, she began to investigate. One of her pillows was gone.

"Well, that's annoying." She crossed her arms, calling in a servant to bring her another. "I don't remember taking any pillows off." She thought aloud. "Maybe the maid who made my bed didn't put them all back…"

Eventually a new pillow was brought to her, and she lied down to enjoy a restful night's sleep, thinking the situation was nothing more than a strange, miniscule problem. She was quite incorrect.

Ramsay hugged the pillow to his chest, imagining it was Sansa. He had been sitting outside her bedroom, watching her prepare for bed and go to sleep. He had taken the pillow from her. He needed that relic of his sweet, sweet Sansa.

"My love...someday we'll be together." He whispered, about to leave his position outside her window. He knew Sansa wasn't asleep fully, but he was surprised when she got out of bed after hearing a knock at her door.

A boy came, holding a snowdrop blossom. He handed it to her, and Sansa seemed elated.

"Oh...Theon, where did you find it? Flowers don't bloom up here very often…" She spoke softly. Ramsay's heart skipped a beat at the sound of her delicate voice.

"Well, I searched, and found this lovely little thing blooming near the Godswood...it was so beautiful that it reminded me of you" The Greyjoy admitted, his cheeks reddening.

"How sweet of you…" Sansa replied, moving a little closer. "I-I should give you something in return."

"Oh, and what that might be, my lady?" Theon responded, though he knew exactly what he was getting.

Sansa planted her lips on his, gentle and soft. She wrapped her arms around the Greyjoy youth. Her feelings for him had been strong since they were children, and he had felt the same. By the Drowned God, he felt his heart rate going a mile a minute. He pulled away slowly, wanting to savor the moment of true bliss he had just experienced. Sansa looked at him, pure infatuation in her eyes. She couldn't help but audibly gasp in girlish glee.

"Sansa...listen, I asked your mother, and she approved...will you become Lady Greyjoy, and live with me on the Iron Islands?" Theon asked shyly, getting on one knee. He eagerly expected a yes.

Sansa nodded and hugged him. She would be so happy to. She truly felt like this teenage rush was real love.

Ramsay could not truly react to this, but stood there in awe and rage. He could feel tears welling in his eyes, his heart shattering into pieces. Sansa wanted to marry another man. ' _How could she?'_ Ramsay thought to himself, ' _I've loved her since before this man even was in her mind! I've sent her countless love letters- maybe I never signed them, but she must have known...this is impossible!'_

The Bolton bastard began to cry, clutching the pillow close to his heart. "Oh my darling Sansa…" He spoke softly, "You will love me, and you will never see that seafaring brute again in your life...mark my words"

He hopped down from his perch and mounted his horse, starting the three-hour long ride to the Dreadfort. Tonight, he would clutch the pillow, not engaging in his own lust as he would normally desire. He just cried, planning in his mind how he will take Theon away and make Sansa love him.

He needed Sansa. He would make her need him too.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa knew that Theon would eventually have to leave Winterfell. She knew he would have to return to the Iron Islands, but she knew that in two years, when she came of age, she would be allowed to marry Theon and live with him there. She was more than happy to think of those days, especially while staying in King's Landing. Her father had been appointed Hand Of The King, and while she was happy for him, she didn't enjoy the South as much as she loved the North. It just seemed so pompous, and while she loved a little bit of flair, she felt like Southerners were full to the brim with greed and overspending. However, places like Highgarden did exude beauty and elegance. She wasn't headed there, of course. She was headed to smelly, whore-ridden, pompous King's Landing. She couldn't have been less thrilled.

"Father, when will we be allowed to return to Winterfell?" She asked, seemingly miserable.

"Well, Sansa, I can't say when. As the Hand of the King, I'd think I need to go wherever his work takes him." Explained Ned. "However, I'm sure that your mother will have no trouble with sending you back to Winterfell to live with Robb until you are married."

"Married, right." Sansa responded. She had badly wanted to marry Theon, but where was he now? Bound for the Iron Islands, if he wasn't there already. She knew she would likely be marrying a southern lord, given the location. Plus, through a political lens, Sansa marrying into a family like the Tyrells or Lannisters would be an excellent power play.

Sansa, however, disagreed. All the lavish jewels and gowns she would wear as a southern bride would certainly be nice, but she knew deep down that it wasn't who she was. Even still, she wanted to marry for love, even if that was a girl's fantasy. All she could do about that is dream, hope and pray that true love will indeed conquer all, just like in all her favorite stories.

Sansa, Arya and their father arrived in King's Landing to a lukewarm welcome. It seemed that Jon Arryn's death was still being mourned, so a warm welcome for Lord Stark seemed like a tall order for certain.

The servants ushered Lord Stark and his daughters to meet King Robert and his family. He had three children, little blondes like their mother. Joffrey was a bit older than Sansa, though based on his appearance one would have expected him to be younger. Sansa had a bad feeling about this boy. Her direwolf, Lady, stood in front of Sansa protectively upon seeing the boy. Lady seemed to have a way of sensing when someone was bad news, as did Nymeria, Arya's wolf. Nymeria was actually growling, which didn't seem to bother the younger Stark girl one bit.

The other two Baratheon children seemed much better. Myrcella was the same age as Sansa, and from her demeanor seemed like a very girly girl who preferred to be seen rather than heard. Tommen, the youngest one, seemed nice enough. He must've been Arya's age, maybe a bit younger.

The most worrying of the Baratheon family to Sansa was Queen Cersei. She was tall, beautiful, and elegant- but she had a very intimidating aura. Just being around her made the elder Stark daughter scared.

Arya didn't seem too fond of anyone in the Baratheon family, save Tommen, who she felt may turn out to be a good playmate if he's alright with her being a knight in their games.

"Ah, Lord Stark. It's a pleasure to see you" Cersei started, curtsying before giving her hand for him to kiss. Ned did as custom demanded, even if he wasn't fond of the lioness whatsoever. He never understood how his close friend could marry such a woman.

"It is a pleasure to see you as well, your Grace" Ned responded, hiding any semblance of distaste for the Lannister woman.

"I suppose you should meet my daughters, Sansa and Arya." Ned said, gesturing to his daughters. Sansa gave a graceful curtsy, while Arya was much more reluctant to do so. Arya felt no reason to bow to anyone, especially not this woman who seemed like nothing but trouble.

Sansa smiled a little. "It's an honor, your majesty" She spoke. Lady was finally becoming more at ease with the situation.

"Oh, no, the honor's all mine, Lady Sansa" Cersei responded. She had a way of winning girls like Sansa over. She saw herself a little in that fire-haired girl, at least a much younger, more naive version of herself. Cersei remembered her youth well, expecting to live her fairy tale with a handsome prince on a white horse to take her away. The lioness knew the look in Sansa's eyes all too well; she was so pure and innocent. It would almost hurt to watch the girl break as she went through life and learned the bitter truth.

Sansa rose, looking to her sister and gesturing for her to stand up straight. Arya should at least have the common respect and decency to pretend like she cared while in the presence of the royal family.

"I suppose I should introduce my children as well. Joffrey is my eldest, Myrcella is my dear daughter, and Tommen is my youngest" Cersei spoke, gesturing to her children.

Joffrey felt now was the time to pretend like he was anything less that a monster. He leaned to kiss Sansa's hand. Sansa pretended like the action didn't disgust her.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Sansa" The blonde-headed boy spoke. Sansa was faking a smile as best she knew how.

"It is...an honor to meet you as well, my Lord" Gods, Sansa hated him already. He seemed so hollow, so fake. She gripped Lady's leash with her free hand tightly out of anxiety. Living in King's Landing, near this boy...it would certainly be interesting.

Sansa had been invited to tea with the Queen and Myrcella, as well as another girl her age- Margaery Tyrell. Sansa had heard of the little rose before, that she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. When she arrived for tea, the rumors were confirmed- Margaery was a pretty one for certain.

"Oh, and you must be Lady Sansa!" Margaery spoke up, approaching the redhead. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, I've heard so many good things about you and your father."

"Oh, have you?" Sansa smiled a little. The Tyrell maiden seemed like a very gregarious girl- admirable for a southern lady like her. "Well, that makes me happy to hear."

Sansa took her seat at the table, as Cersei poured her some tea.

"You look so nice, Lady Sansa!" Myrcella said, admiring how Sansa had dressed today. She'd put effort into dressing like a southern lady, only because she wanted to fit in. The way her hair was styled and the mauve gown she wore felt so wrong. Not because she didn't like it, the dress and her hairstyle did _look_ nice, Sansa just didn't feel like it was right for her. She felt much more comfortable in the warmer, calmer colored fashions from the North. She just didn't feel like she could adjust to life like this.

"Oh, thank you Myrcella" Sansa responded softly, adding a cube of sugar to her tea. "You look quite lovely yourself"

"You must forgive Sansa for her quietness- ladies from the North like her are much more reserved. The men up there don't let them speak as much" Cersei commented, delivering a sort of backhanded insult to the Stark girl.

"I'm allowed to speak, your Grace, I just choose not to" Sansa responded before she took a sip of her tea. "I'm more of a listening type."

"Listening is an important skill." Margaery added, coming to Sansa's side. "When you listen, you learn a lot more than you do running your mouth."

Cersei seemed mildly offended, but kept her cool. She never liked being contradicted. Hell, she never liked Margaery. She felt like she had some sort of competition with the young Tyrell girl, like she needed to be better and more liked.

"I suppose you do, but I'd rather be heard than seen. It's important to have people listen to you, child. You have more power in your words" Cersei responded. "Always remember, the two most powerful things a lady has is her words and her body. If you use these two things to your advantage, you will go far in this world"

Sansa nodded in agreement, more or less just wanting to ignore the queen and speak to her newfound ally.

"So, Margaery...can I ask what Highgarden is like? Is it as beautiful as I've heard?" Sansa asked, deciding to change the subject before things got too heated.

"Oh yes, but maybe I'm a little biased" Margaery responded, smiling at her. She liked Sansa; she seemed like a sweet girl. She didn't understand why Cersei was being rude to her. "I'm sure Winterfell is beautiful as well!"

"Oh, it is. I like it a lot- but is nothing like anything you've seen in the South. Maybe someday you can visit!" Sansa suggested.

"I'd like nothing more, Sansa." Margaery giggled a little bit. "We should try and talk more often!"

Sansa smiled at her new friend. "We most certainly should!"

"You're wonderful company, Lady Sansa"


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was out, birds were singing, and King's Landing didn't smell as disgusting as it usually did. Sansa and Margaery were out on a walk, accompanied by the heir to the Iron Throne himself, Joffrey Baratheon.

"You know, I think you two ladies are quite lucky" He spoke, glancing at the two pretty girls on each side of him.

"Oh, and why's that?" Sansa asked. She never had much taste for the blonde-haired heir. He just seemed suspicious to her. Something was just off about him.

"Well, because you two have unlimited time with me, the future king. And one of you is yourself a future queen- isn't that right, my lady Margaery?" Joffrey spoke pridefully, looking at the Tyrell girl.

"Sansa, you will certainly be one of the most respected ladies of the court," Margaery assured, not wanting her new best friend to be left out. "You know, being daughter of the Hand Of The King, there's really no way you can't be!"

"Well, I'm happy to be so warmly accepted into you and Prince Joffrey's circle," Sansa responded, looking ahead. She noticed some children playing with wooden swords- well, one had a wooden sword, the other had a real one.

As they drew closer, Sansa recognized the sword and the child who held it. Arya Stark, playing with a common boy. She did not disapprove of this; even if her little sister was meant to be a lady, she thought their playing was cute. As long as her "needle" didn't hurt the boy, she didn't have an issue with it. She saw Nymeria relaxing beside the pair, barking excitedly and jumping up whenever Arya looked like she was willing their play battle.

"Isn't that cute!" Sansa thought aloud, smiling at her little sister. "You're doing wonderful, Arya"

This turned Joffrey's attention to the scene before him. He was not at all entertained or impressed. He scowled.

"What're you doing?" He asked, crossing his skinny arms. "A lady like you shouldn't be playing like this, especially not with a real sword."

Sansa quickly jumped in to defend her sister. "Arya's just playing. This is harmless, my lord. Let them be"

Joffrey glared at Sansa, rolling his eyes. She was nothing but a girl, what did she know about what's good for her little sister?

"'Scuse me, Prince Joffrey, but I don't think it's your place to tell me what I can and can't do" Arya interjected. "Micah here is my friend! It's not like he'd ever hurt me"

"He's a common boy, Arya." Joffrey started. "He can't be trusted."

"He can be trusted more than you can…" Arya muttered under her breath.

Joffrey raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, say that louder. Your future king couldn't hear you that-"

"I said, Micah can be trusted more than you can." Arya responded, louder. "He doesn't treat me like some flower that needs to be protect-"

Smack. Arya was smacked across the face. The younger Stark girl let out a cry of pain and tried to tackle the older boy, but he simply laughed at her. While Arya had started training to be a good fighter with her 'dance instructor', she wasn't anywhere near the skill level she would need to take out an older boy like Joffrey.

That's when Nymeria lunged at Joffrey, biting the hand he had used to smack Arya, hard enough to tear through skin and muscle.

Sansa freaked out, knowing Arya would be in trouble for this. She didn't care that Joffrey was hurt, but she and Margaery still did their best to get Nymeria off of him before his hand was ripped off by the angry dire wolf.

"My mother will hear of this, you little brat!" Joffrey exclaimed, wincing in pain as Margaery ushered him back to the castle. Sansa went to Arya's side.

"He paid for smacking me" Arya said, crossing her arms.

"He did, but you may pay for it as well…" Sansa responded worriedly, looking at Nymeria.

"Arya, You need to set her free. The Queen won't let that wolf live if she's still here by the time Joffrey cries to mommy about-" Sansa was quickly interrupted by her stubborn sister.

"I can't let Nymeria go, she needs me!" She said, wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck. Sansa frowned.

"I know, I know...but if we let her free, there is a chance she will come back to you. If she stays, she'll die…" Sansa explained gently, putting a hand on Arya's shoulder. "When you do see her again, because I can't imagine she will be gone long, it will be wonderful."

Arya sighed, taking off Nymeria's collar. "I will do this alone, Sansa" She told her sister.

Sansa stood up, heading back to the castle. She respected Arya's need to let go of her dear friend by herself. It would be painful for her.

Arya brought Nymeria to the edge of the forest, tears in her eyes. She didn't want to say goodbye to her friend. Her direwolf couldn't help it if she wanted to protect her! This was horribly unfair, but she knew it must be done for Nymeria's sake.

"Nymeria…" She hugged the wolf tightly. "I need you to run, far far away from here. Go back to Winterfell, please, I don't want you to die!"

Nymeria tilted her head in confusion. The wolf was unable to comprehend what he owner wanted her to do, being so devoted to her.

Arya began to cry. "Please, run! I will see you again, but I need you to go! Please, Nymeria…"

The wolf stood, licking Arya's face to dry her tears. But then it turned around and ran. Arya gave the wolf a wave goodbye, but she knew in her heart this would not be the last time she saw the wolf. They would not be separated forever.

Later that night, Eddard and his daughters were summoned to speak with Cersei, who stood beside Joffrey. The blonde boy's arm now rested in a sling, wrapped in gauze. It was still a little bloody, but the blood had dried.

"Arya did it, mother. She sent her wolf on me! She was angry because I told her to be careful playing with swords, and she send that massive dog to attack me!" Joffrey played the part of a frail scared boy for right now. He felt like he had the upper hand; at the very least, she had his mother to defend him. "I want those beasts dead!"

"That's not what happened at all!" Arya exclaimed, before being shushed by Queen Cersei.

"Then tell me, girl. What do _you_ think happened?" Asked Cersei in a patronizing tone, causing Arya to scowl.

"He slapped me across the face, Joffrey did! I tried to defend myself, but Nymeria just jumped in! I promise that's what happened, Queen Cersei" She said, looking up at Ned. "I would never send Nymeria to attack someone! Never!"

Arya looked to her father for support. Surely he had to believe her, there was no way he could believe Joffrey.

"Arya isn't the kind of child to send her dog attacking others, nor is she the kind to shoot crossbows at whores." Ned commented, referencing a habit of Joffrey's. It was an ill-kept secret that Joffrey was a sadistic kid; not even for sexual pleasure, just because it gave him an ego boost. This utterly disgusted Lord Stark, and the Baratheon Prince wouldn't get away with tormenting his daughter.

"Y-You weren't even there, Lord Stark! Sansa, how about you testify?" Joffrey asked. He thought Sansa was weak, and would want to impress him over defending her sister. He thought wrong.

"No, you slapped her. It was audible too. You left a red welt on her cheek." Sansa gestured to the swollen mark on her younger sister's face. "Margaery could testify too, if you need a third witness, your Grace"

Cersei was fuming. She did not want these children to go unpunished for agitating her Joffrey. The lioness gritted her teeth.

"Those direwolves are a clear danger to our children, Lord Stark. Kill them" She spoke coldly. She didn't care for Sansa anymore; so foolish was she to think that her sister would be more important than the respect of her and Joffrey. This was why she hated Northerners; their devotion to their family only caused them trouble. A fitting punishment and learning moment for this fire-haired child was the death of her pet.

"Your Grace, will all due respect...I will not kill an innocent animal. Nymeria is already gone, and she was the only one to cause trouble. I will not take Lady away from Sansa; that wolf acts more like a lapdog than a killing machine." Ned spoke, looking over at Sansa. She looked terrified.

Tears burned in Sansa's eyes on the order to kill her wolf, looking up at her father and begging for mercy, then up to Cersei with absolute hatred. This Queen, and her monster of a son...she would never forgive them.

"We don't know when that beast could snap! I could lose my arm if she attacks me! Mother please, don't let her keep such a horrible, vicious creature!" Joffrey pleaded, acting as if he was actually scared of the harmless dog.

Sansa began to cry. "Please, no, Lady would never hurt anyone. Queen Cersei, I'll do anything!"

Ned sighed and looked to Cersei with utter disdain. Sansa was his daughter, his child. Seeing her cry stung like lemon juice on an open cut. "Now, Sansa, Lady will not die. I will be sure of that. Cersei, once again, Lady is an innocent wolf. Had Nymeria not already been gone, she would be dead. Lady did not bite Joffrey, and until she does, I refuse to kill her."

Cersei rolled her eyes, but admitted that Eddard was right. She had met Lady before; what was she but a very large lapdog. While she hated Sansa, she decided a more fitting punishment for Sansa. She wants her wolf, fine. This won't be forgotten, though.

"Fine then, but if that wolf so much as nips at my child, I will put its head on a fucking pike" Cersei said, narrowing her eyes. "That's not a threat. That's a promise."

Sansa sobbed her thanks, running outside and wrapping her arms around Lady's neck. She untied her from the post she was tied to.

"My baby, my baby…" Sansa said, stroking Lady's soft fur. "Its okay, I'm here, I love you…" Sansa refused to let anything happen to the pet who had become her closest friend. She cried softly, burying her face into the wolf's neck. They couldn't take this wolf from her if they had to pry her from her cold, dead hands.

Where there is death, though, there will always be death. A Lannister pays her debts, and now Sansa owes one a life. Cersei knows exactly whose life Sansa will be exchanging for her precious puppy.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few nights, Eddard Stark did not sleep. Something plagued his mind. His closest friend, King Robert Baratheon, lie dying. He had been out on a hunt, and the boar he had attacked took him out- or so the story was told.

Eddard couldn't help but feel like this was not an accident, that there was much more to the story. Robert was a bit fat and tired easily, however, he wouldn't just fall off of his horse- even because of a boar. There had to be something more to this, something that needed to be hidden.

His mind wandered to the last time he had spoken with the King. He'd stated Eddard should rule as king until his son came of age. His blonde son.

He decided to take a peek through the Baratheon family records. He had research to do, for he knew something was off about the fact all but one of the Baratheon children looked nothing like their father.

Eddard Stark found himself in the old library of King's Landing. The place was dark and dim; so he had to use a candle in order to properly see what he was looking for.

He kept on thinking about the Baratheon children, still thinking about how different the children looked from their father. That's when he came across the birth records of all the houses of the South. Picking out an old, musty book bearing the House Baratheon sigil, he sat it on the desk.

He coughed slightly as he opened it; it seemed the thing had not been opened in near decades. Or at least, fifteen years, given the youngest Baratheon child was of that age. Brushing the dust off of the old pages, he looked through the records of the Baratheon family tree. The names of the children, their birth weight, height, hair color, etc. This was when a pattern started to form.

As he read through the records, he noticed something; all Baratheon children had black hair. Stannis, Robert, Renly, their father Steffon, their grandfather...not a blonde among them, even if their wives were blonde. Baratheons were naturally darker, so how could it be possible to have only one daughter had black hair? That's when it hit him, like cold water being poured on you to wake you up.

Tommen, Myrcella, and Joffrey...they were not legitimate children of Robert. They were bastards, and Eddard had a feeling he knew who their father was.

None other than Jamie Lannister, he was the only possible father. Cersei was all too close with her brother, closer than siblings should be. Not only were these children bastards, but products of incest. It explained why Joffrey was so mad; Targaryens tended to be mad, because of the fact they are predominantly products of incest.

Eddard knew now that Joffrey had no real claim to the throne, and must have it be made known. Joffrey should not be king when he comes of age, Stannis has the strongest claim and should be made king. Now that he knew Cersei and Jamie's dirtiest of secrets, he would need to use it wisely- but honorably.

The death of Robert Baratheon was officially announced in the early morning. A kingdom mourned their king's loss- even if in truth, his rule was not the best.

Joffrey did not shed a tear for his father's death. This just so happened to make him king, and he was more than pleased about it.

"Mother, when will they crown me?" He asked, expecting a simple 'soon' from her.

"Well, my sweet boy, while you will become king, your father's will must be read and his last desires met" Cersei responded as they walked to the throne room.

"It should be soon, then. I am his rightful heir." He spoke, crossing his arms.

Cersei knew in her heart that he wasn't, but she wanted him to be king. This gave her power as Queen Regent, and she was now sure her line would be secure as soon as Margaery and Joffrey married. She wasn't all that happy that of all people, Margaery would be queen (considering she hated her), but at least a Tyrell alliance would be good for them.

"Yes, yes. Lord Stark will be reading it to us." The two of them arrived, and there he stood, will in hand, his two daughters watching out of curiosity.

"Queen regent, Prince Joffrey, I come to read the last will and testament of King Robert Baratheon" Ned spoke formally. He just wanted to get this over with, considering he knew that Cersei wouldn't be too pleased with what her husband had wrote.

"He writes that Joffrey is to be king" He started as he opened the parchment he had his will written on.

Joffrey listened eagerly. Those words were like music to his ears. Yes, yes, he was to be king. He was to have power over everyone.

"Yes, yes, get on with it, will you?"

"...once he comes of age" Ned spoke, a giant sigh of relief coming out of all the present courtesans. "Until then…" He paused, surprised at what he was reading. "Eddard Stark is to be king"

The entire room went dead silent a moment. Joffrey raised an eyebrow and looked at the will.

"Oh, Let me see that!" He exclaimed, snatching the will out of Lord Stark's hands. It was written there in ink. "This is wrong! I have a rightful claim to the throne! This is treason!"

Cersei looked enraged. She walked down beside her son, who saw the will. She knew exactly why it was written there; Robert had always valued Ned as a friend, and while he was a good Hand for the time he was alive, he was in no place to be king. To question Joffrey's right as this seemed to do, it was treasonous. Cersei had a feeling that Ned knew too much.

"Dare you question my son's claim to the throne?" Cersei asked, fire in her green eyes.

Ned was a man of honor, and the honorable thing to do in this case was to speak the truth. "I do not question your son's claim, I have only read what King Robert has willed" He spoke.

"And how do I know you haven't just written this down while he was on his deathbed?" She asked. "Couldn't it be true that you made it up to elevate yourself, Lord Stark?"

"I am a man of honor, Queen Regent Cersei" He explained. "I would not lie about my closest friend's last testament to the world. He is not yet ready to rule, according to your late husband"

"It isn't true! Father would never deny me my claim to the throne. This is treason, have him taken away!" Joffrey exclaimed. The guards obeyed and brought him to the dungeon, just like that.

"Don't worry, my sweet boy. The traitor will be taken away, and you shall be crowned king." Cersei assured, her hand on his shoulder.

"I want the traitor to die, mother." Joffrey said. "I want to see that Northern fool's head on a pike!"

"I do not think it would be wise to kill him. A tame wolf is much more useful than a dead one" She advised him. "If he were to die, we could very well have an angry pack on our hands."

"You know, I really don't care. If they want a war with me, they'll have one. Let me wear a cloak dyed red by the blood of house Stark" On that day, Joffrey made a decision. Mercy was never to be a word in his vocabulary.

Indeed, he would never wear white for long; it was always to be dyed blood red.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa walked down to the dungeon, holding a candle in her shaking hand. Tears brimmed in her eyes. She was only allowed to have one visit before the date of his execution- at least unless he confessed.

"Father…" She spoke, kneeling down by his cell. Lady tried to stick her nose through the bars, trying to sniff the man who brought her to her beloved master. The wolf eventually just relented and let out a whine, lying her head in Sansa's lap. Sansa set the candle down and found herself stroking the wolf's ears for comfort.

"Sansa, I know things are hard…" Eddard started, sighing as he gripped the bars of his cell. "You know I haven't done anything wrong"

"You need to confess. If you confess, you will be able to take the black and join Jon!" Sansa spoke, hope growing weakly in her voice. She knew how her father clung to honor like it was all he had, even when he was locked in a dark, disgusting cell that smelled like death.

"You know well that I have committed no crimes against the crown, I have merely said that King Robert wrote" Ned responded, sighing. "I can't dishonor my entire family for the purpose of saving my own life. I would rather die knowing I was truthful than live a liar,"

"Father, please. I don't want you to die. Just let Joffrey have what he wants. He just wants a bit of an ego-stroking," Sansa spoke, tears beginning to fall down his cheeks.

"I cannot confess to a crime I didn't commit!" Ned responded frustratedly. "You are a child, you don't understand the repercussions"

"I think I do. You're going to die, mother will be left without a husband, my siblings and I fatherless!" The stubborn redhead was sobbing. "Please…"

Eddard knew that confessing may save his own life, but he had been raised on honor, not saving one's own skin. Sansa was a girl, what would she know of such a thing? She had yet to learn the harsh realities of the world.

"Sansa, you must understand, it is better to die with honor than to live in shame, even if I am north of the wall" He explained.

Sansa's pale, dainty hand reached through the bars to hold her father's larger, calloused one. The hand that once held so many swords may soon go numb from the striking of one.

"Don't do it for your honor. Do it for me, for Jon, Robb, Arya, Bran, mother…" Sansa was stubborn on this matter. "Take the black, join Jon, give our family the consolation of knowing you are alive"

Ned sighed, shaking his head slightly. "You are as stubborn as your mother…"

Sansa did not reply, only looking right into her father's eyes.

"I will confess. Not for my own life, but for this family" Ned spoke, returning Sansa's gaze.

"I will write you when you go to Castle Black" Sansa said, smiling at him. "I love you, father"

"I love you too, Sansa. Now go, I'm sure that dinner is waiting for you" He let go of his daughter's hand, sighing as she reluctantly walked off.

In Sansa's heart, she could only pray that mercy would fall on her father. Joffrey was a cruel, unforgiving person—and he loved bloodshed. How could she be sure that he would hold up his promise?

Cersei had always iterated to her that she was in control of him. Her son was mad, but she was his mother. Sansa knew that mothers had a very powerful influence over their children—look at Catelyn with her big brother Robb, for example. She managed to sway him on things he would never bend for usually.

This fact gave Sansa a small amount of hope. Cersei was a manipulative woman, but she cared deeply about her children, at least from Sansa's observations. She wouldn't let Joffrey do something that could damage his reputation and honor as a king so badly.

At exactly midday, Eddard Stark was brought out to the square of King's Landing, where the crowds looked on at him with disdain. Some of them, loyal to the Baratheon line, called him the worst of names, jeering and booing at the former Warden of the North.

However, another (larger) group in the crowd proclaimed his innocence. Joffrey wasn't of age to be king, plus, his behavior was starting to worry the kingdom. They feared another mad king like Aerys II was in the making, and that Ned's death may signal a tyrannical reign.

Regardless of what the crowd said and did, Eddard remained calm. There was no use in letting them see how enraged he was. He looked over at Sansa, who had her hair in southern braids (much to her own disdain, it seemed), standing beside Cersei and Margaery.

"Kneel," Joffrey spoke, glaring daggers at the Stark male. "Kneel before your rightful king"

While Ned absolutely _hated_ this brat, he was doing this for his daughters, his sons, his wife. This was for his family, not his pride. Thus, he knelt.

"You stand accused of treason against the King, do you deny it?" Joffrey asked, sneering like the toad he was.

"I do not deny it" Ned responded, clenching his fists.

"Who is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, Lord Stark?" Joffrey inquired, his voice full of malice.

"Joffrey Baratheon" He replied, though reluctant. He kept on telling himself this was for his family, for their happiness and survival.

Joffrey turned to the crowd, a wicked grin on his face. His ego had been nicely stroked. He looked to Cersei, Sansa and Margaery.

"My good ladies and my dear mother have said that should Lord Stark confess, he shall be sent to the wall and take the black" The boy king started, gesturing to the three women.

For half a second, Sansa looked relieved. That relief would not last for long.

Joffrey chuckled, shaking his head. As if he would ever have mercy on someone who had done this to him, denied him his birthright.

"But they have the soft, fragile hearts of women," He continued. "And the only proper punishment for treason, even confessed, is death"

Sansa let out a shrill scream of horror as Joffrey's kingsguard, Ser Semly, brought down the sword to her father's neck. She choked out sobs.

"Father! No!" Sansa screamed, unable to run to him.

Margaery gritted her teeth a little, before going to comfort the fearful redhead. She was almost as horrified as Sansa was, but for her own sake she kept her cool.

"Let's go inside, Lady Sansa…" Was all the Tyrell could manage to get out as she ushered Sansa away from the bloody scene.

Later in the night, Sansa was in her chambers, the room lit only by a single candle at her desk. Lady laid at her feet, while the redhead frantically wrote a letter. She had been consistently writing letters to her brother at this point, but she needed this one sent as soon as possible, hence her messy and fast-paced writing.

' _Dearest Brother Robb,_

 _'_ _Today father has died, he was beheaded on King Joffrey's orders. The cowardly king passed the sentence but he couldn't swing the sword. I know he will want you to come down to the South and bend the knee to him. I don't advise coming here without an army; Joffrey doesn't like any of us Starks. I'm scared, Robb. Arya went missing on the day of father's execution, and I fear she may be dead. I pray to the Gods you can save the North from this tyrant before any other Starks die at his hands'_

 _Much love, Sansa'_

Sansa quickly sealed it and sent a raven with it, wishing with all her might that there was a Godswood to pray at here in King's Landing. Instead, she simply blew out her candle and got into bed with Lady.

She couldn't stop herself from sobbing that night. Her father was gone, dead. Not only that but viewed as a traitor. If he hadn't confessed, he could have kept his honor. This was her fault; she was a foolish child. She should not have held onto that thin chance he could've survived. She should have known that Joffrey was too cruel and egotistical to let someone who was challenging his reign live. This was all her fault.

She cried herself to sleep that night.

Robb knew something was wrong when a raven arrived from King's Landing. It was early in the morning; the Young Wolf was hardly awake. He shielded his eyes from the rays of the sun and rubbed the sleep from them. This letter could not be good news. It wasn't from his father, the seal on it was different. The wax was black instead of red, and the seal was too hasty to be from the patient and calm Eddard Stark.

He sat up in bed and read the letter he had now figured was from his sister. Tear stains were on the page; however, the writing was still relatively legible.

Anger rose in his heart as he read the details. His father was unfairly slaughtered, his littlest sister missing, and his other younger sister in great peril. Even worse, Joffrey wanted Robb to bend the knee.

"So, Joffrey murders my father…and now he wants his ass kissed?" He uttered, putting the letter on his desk. He got out of bed and wrote Sansa back.

 _'_ _My dear sister Sansa,_

 _'_ _This crime of our father's death will not go unpunished. I will come to King's Landing, but not to bend the knee, no. The North needed independence a long time ago, and now is the time to fight for it. I will kill every Lannister man that gets in my way. You will be safe, father will be avenged. Gods be good, nobody else is hurt or dies. I will rally the Stark army, and we shall start our march on King's Landing within the week'_

 _Best of regards, Robb'_

Robb got dressed hastily and went down to the great hall, where he happened upon his mother sobbing as she held a letter of her own—this one sent officially from King's Landing.

"Robb, have you—" The Tully-born woman was interrupted.

"I have, mother. I'm just as devastated as you are…" Robb was not the kind of man to cry, even in front of his mother (who he was very close with).

"I won't let them get away with this, mum. I won't" He spoke, his mother running up and hugging him. "They have earned a war with us, with me,"

"I support you, Robb. This is dangerous, but I will support you if I am allowed to help" Catelyn responded. "You need an advisor"

"You're a wise woman, mother. I know with you help, the North can finally be free of this tyranny. We will be independent of Joffrey and the Lannisters, and when I kill him, there will be a new king to rule the south"

Robb had faith in this cause. The boy, now a man at nineteen, was ready for this. If he had to die in order for it to come true, then so be it. The North will always remember what the Lannisters have wrought.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, in the mid-morning sun, Sansa, Margaery and Joffrey were walking about the castle. Joffrey had claimed earlier that he had something to show Sansa, and though reluctant, the redhead agreed to follow as long as Margaery could join her.

"Margaery, I don't have a good feeling about this…" Sansa admitted quietly to her now close friend.

"Sansa, if anything bad happens, I will try and rein him in" The Tyrell girl responded.

The Stark sighed. "How is it you manage to always have control over him?"

"Easy: I tell him what he wants to hear. He wants to be viewed as this great and powerful king, and I talk to him exactly like that's how I see him" She explained. "Men love hearing stuff like that, Sansa. I advise that when you marry, to find out what the man wants, and give it to him"

"I will keep that in mind" Sansa responded, as Joffrey stopped them. They were on a ledge-type structure around three stories above the ground. This structure had scaffolding below, but no railings of any kind.

On the stone gate in front of them, were heads on sticks. Many of them, but one stood out. Sansa almost screamed when she saw her father's head on display, but she managed to hold back her true horror. Instead, tears started to fall as she looked away.

"Look, Sansa," Joffrey said, looking at her terrified face with sickening delight. "Look at what I put up there for you, for all of the Seven Kingdoms to see"

Sansa shook her head, upsetting Joffrey. He grabbed her by the hair and turned her head.

"Look!" He screamed, pulling her red locks harshly. "I said look at it!"

The Stark girl sobbed as he forced her head in the direction of her father's. Margaery looked at Joffrey with disgust.

As the boy king let go of her, he moved towards the heads once more. "You know, that traitor brother of yours is next. I'd love to give you his head"

"Or maybe he will give me yours" Sansa muttered, gritting her teeth.

Before Sansa could say anything else, Joffrey struck the girl, smacking her hard across the face. A red handprint appeared on her fair cheek, the mark stinging heavily.

"You will not speak to your king like that. Do you wish to have your head there too?" Joffrey asked, his rage only increasing with each second, he was within range of the Stark.

"My love, you mustn't strike a lady in such a way" Margaery spoke gently, looking at Joffrey as she hugged Sansa tight. The poor red wolf, she needed someone to give her affection right now.

"What if she's a traitor's child?" He retorted, narrowing his eyes. "Shall I strike her then?"

"My dear king, you must _never_ strike a lady. It is bad for your reputation, and I want you to be a well-beloved king," The rose had gone full ass-kissing mode, but it seemed to pacify the cruel prince for the time being.

"Very well, but she should watch her tongue, lest she wants it chopped out" He retorted quickly. "I must be gone. You two…do lady things, or whatever"

With that, the blonde tyrant left the two.

Sansa stared down at the fall from the ledge, wondering if she should jump. She had nothing to live for, really; her father was dead, her brother might die, her sister is missing, and she would probably never marry happily here at King's Landing. The only good things about living right now were Margaery and Lady, and the tiny chance that Robb could win independence for the North.

"It's not worth it, Sansa," Margaery said, grabbing her shoulder. "By dying, you'd let him win"

Sansa slowly stepped back from the edge, standing beside the rose now. She let out a sigh and wiped the tears from her azure eyes.

"You're right. He can't win," Sansa responded, still staring down.

"You're a wolf, and he is a deer. Wolves eat deer, don't they? You can survive this, I know you will" Margaery assured her. "Come and have tea with me later this afternoon, and we can discuss methods of surviving this"

Sansa nodded at her, and silently returned to her chambers, sitting on her bed with Lady. A raven arrived from Winterfell—from her big brother. She opened it, reading the contents.

"He's going to liberate the North…" Sansa spoke to herself in awe. "My brother will be King in the North…and Joffrey, he'll be dead…"

This letter comforted Sansa, but for her brother's sake, she burned it. She made sure to respond, sending the raven right before her tea time with Margaery.

Sansa arrived at tea wearing one of her favorite dresses. It wouldn't have fit very well in the North; blues and darker hues were usually more in style up there.

This dress was a light pink, embroidered on the sides with white roses. It was different from her absolute favorite blue dress; roses did not line the neckline of this one. Instead, a little gold trim did, lining the edge of the dress and the sleeves as well.

"Good afternoon, Margaery," Sansa spoke, sitting down at the tea table with her. She took the porcelain teapot and poured herself some tea, adding two sugar-cubes.

"Afternoon, Sansa. I made sure that we are alone, I've dismissed all guards and servants," Margaery assured, pouring herself some tea as Sansa finished fixing her own.

"Wonderful," Sansa replied, stirring her drink a little now.

"I provided some lemon cakes, by the way. I know how you love them" The rose spoke, gesturing to the plate.

"Oh, thank you! Now, what is it you needed to speak with me about?" The red wolf asked, sipping her tea.

"You can't stay here, Sansa. Cersei wants your entire family dead," She started. "Joffrey too. You need to escape…do you have anyone who can sneak you out unsuspiciously?"

"I don't think so…" The fire-haired girl pondered the question. The Starks primarily kept to themselves up North, so friends in King's Landing were few and far between. "My father didn't bother making friends here. He didn't like the people here at all,"

"Surely the Tullys may have friends. You're still a Tully's daughter, even if you don't bear the name" Margaery continued.

"My mother has one friend…but I worry I may not be able to trust him sometimes. He seemed almost too cozy with my father…" Sansa continued, sighing.

"He may be your only chance…" Margaery said worriedly, sighing. "I would never intend on endangering a dear friend like you,"

"I know, Marg. You're a fantastic person, and you will make a wonderful queen. Hopefully you can get Joffrey to listen to you…"

"I think I can make him bend, Sansa. Just remember; tell him what he wants to hear" Margaery winked.

"I will speak with my mother's friend, then. I know he has many connections around here, so it won't be hard for me to get out of here" Sansa responded, standing up from her seat.

Margaery got up as well, hugging Sansa.

"I will miss you, you know. I'll do my best to write you, but queenly duties may make it difficult," The Tyrell spoke, not letting go of her embrace just yet.

"I'll miss you too…thank you so much for being here for me. It means so, so much. May the Gods bless you, Margaery Tyrell," Sansa said, resting her chin on the taller girl's shoulder.

"And you, Sansa Stark" Margaery responded.

Slowly, the two pulled away from eachother, and Sansa departed. Now all she had to do was escape.


	8. Chapter 8

Ramsay Snow halted his horse as he arrived back home at the Dreadfort, dismounting and carrying a sack on his back. He wasn't struggling too much; the recently twenty-year-old bastard was very strong. He'd carried things twice this heavy before.

"Want me to bring it to the kennels for you, love?" A girl spoke, taking the heavy sack. "I'll wake him up before the dogs start eatin'"

"Sure, whatever Myranda" He dismissed, waving his hand at her. She seemed a little disappointed, but still walked off with the victim.

Ramsay never cared much for the Royce girl, but she was good practice for Sansa in the bedroom and such. He couldn't just go in without knowing anything about women and their bodies; when they married (and hopefully they would) he wanted her wedding night to be the most magical night of her life.

He entered the Dreadfort quietly, seeing if his father was there. He didn't want to have a negative run-in today after such a good kill; it would really kill his good mood.

That's when he heard his father's voice, plus another. He listened in, being the curious lad that he was.

"You must know, Lord Bolton…Robb Stark plans to go to war with my grandson, my family" Tywin Lannister began. "I know you dislike the Starks…"

"That I do, Lord Lannister" Roose responded. "But my armies are not free, of course,"

"I know, I know. That's why I offer you some gold for your troubles, a nice amount of it. Enough to survive you a long, long while. You can buy yourself as many allies as you may need, but we must crush the Starks. Rebellion will not be tolerated" Tywin added, pacing the length of the Dreadfort's Great Hall.

"He is a mere child, he doesn't comprehend the mistakes he's making. It's a real shame, Tywin. The boy had so much potential, and now he has to die because of a childish game" Roose pretended to be disappointed, shrugging. "The Young Wolf will just die young, won't he?"

"Indeed, he will. Like his father, in shame" Tywin chuckled a little. "Maybe the Stark girls could be married off to Southern lords. I imagine Sansa would make a good bride for Jamie, were he to leave the Kingsguard—plus, imagine heirs from those two. Beautiful children, I tell you"

As the conversation went on, Ramsay clenched his fist. He and Robb had met between when Sansa and him met and when Sansa left for King's Landing, and he had been kind to him. He even delivered something from him to Sansa, claiming it was from a secret admirer. He was one of the only people he trusted, and they wanted him dead.

Not to mention, the had the audacity to marry Sansa away after Robb dies. His sweet, sweet Sansa, marrying a man from the South? Well, her marrying anyone but him was a terrible thought, but the thought of her not staying in the North disgusted the Bolton Bastard even more.

As Tywin departed, Ramsay approached his father, anger burning in his pale blue irises.

"You're going to just be bought off?" He asked, trying to mask the rage in his voice.

"Oh Gods…" Roose groaned, looking at his bastard. "Lord Tywin wishes to help us, Ramsay. He gave me money to help me become Warden of the North"

"By betraying a house you swore fealty to?" The bastard glared. He was a sociopath, yes, but the Starks were special. He has friends there.

"What, do you have friends there? Oh, that's right, you don't have friends." Roose responded. "Besides that whore Myranda. How much are you paying her, anyway?"

"I haven't paid her anything, and she isn't my friend. She's practice for my future wife" The raven-haired man crossed his arms. "Once I have a proper bride, I will dispose of her like the pest she is"

"Proper bride? You're a bastard, you will never have a proper bride" The old Bolton reminded him.

"I am your only son" Ramsay retorted, almost growling the words. That's when he was slapped, hit across the face by his own father.

"You are no son of mine. You are a Snow. That is all you will ever be. You are absolutely worthless to me" Roose spoke angrily. "Now get out of my sight before I beat you"

Ramsay simply left after that. He spoke nothing else, just left. What else was there to say anymore? He got this kind of treatment every single day since he was a little boy. He knew he wasn't wanted; he didn't need the reminder. He went to his chambers and changed into a more comfortable outfit before lying back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes and thought of her. Her long, russet curls glowing like fire in the sunlight, her snow-colored skin, a dainty hand reaching out to hold his larger one. Her cerulean eyes gazing into his with sincerity and love. The woman of his dreams and his wildest fantasies; sweet, sweet Sansa Stark.

How he longed for those soft, pink lips to be planted on his own. He wished to feel her head lying on his chest at night as they drifted off to sleep, his hands entangled in her fiery hair. Gods, did he love this girl. He was smitten, infatuated with everything about her. Thoughts of her were all he needed to get through the toughest of times. Someday, they would be wed, and all would be good within this miserable world.

Ramsay began to fall asleep as he daydreamed of Sansa, but those daydreams were interrupted by an all-too-familiar voice.

"You missed it, Ramsay. They tore his throat right out!" Myranda said, shutting the door and taking off her hunting clothes. She slipped into a lighter, more comfortable nightgown, laying beside him on the bed. She lay on her belly, tracing circles on his chest.

"Sounds wonderful," He responded. The only thing fun about her was how sadistic she was; she was just like him. Too much like him to truly be enjoyable. "I would have liked to see it, but I had business to take care of with my father"

"Still tryin' to get legitimized, huh?" Myranda replied, sighing. "He thinks your worthless…it must be hard, having nobody in this world"

"I will survive it" He responded simply, putting an arm around her. He was trying to imagine the beautiful redhead lying next to him, but it was hard to do when the girl spoke as she did.

"I'm all you have, you know. You better not betray me, or you'll have nothing" She spoke, an eerie calmness to her voice.

"I will not betray you, as long as you don't bore me" He added. In truth, he was bored of her, but he wouldn't let her know that just yet. Not until he was legitimized, until it would be "safe" to lose her. He can't afford to lose his bed partner until he's got Sansa on his arm to truly satisfy him (in both the carnal and romantic sense).

"I know how to keep this exciting, rest assured" She began to kiss his neck. Ramsay wasn't in the mood for sex right now, but whatever. He can turn her over and pretend its Sansa, just like he always did.

After the deed was done, Myranda looked over at him from the other side of the bed, her breathing a bit heavy.

"Ramsay, would you ever marry me?" She asked, looking over at him. "If you are never legitimized, I want to have your babies"

Ramsay groaned, pulling the furs over his body. He didn't want to talk to her right now, really. He already regretted this.

"Myranda, I don't want kids" He uttered, closing his eyes. It was a lie; he would love to have children, but only with Sansa. She was the only mother he would accept for his little ones.

"Well, at least, I would like to be yours forever" She retorted. "Get me a ring"

"Goodnight, Myranda" He asserted, yawning. "I'm going to sleep"

"Goodnight, Ramsay. Sweet dreams!" Myranda responded, her voice sickeningly sweet, as if oversaturated. She tried to cuddle beside Ramsay, but he pushed her away.

Myranda always felt there may be another woman in Ramsay's mind, but now she was starting to become sure of it. Whoever this woman may be, she will feel her wrath.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa was in the gardens of King's Landing, hoping to seek out her mother's old friend within the day. She couldn't wait any longer to leave this nightmare of a place.

She had already celebrated a name-day here, and she hated it. She wished that she could've turned seventeen somewhere else, like home at Winterfell, with her mother and brothers.

She wandered the gardens, admiring all the rare flowers she never saw at Winterfell. Bright blooms bursted from their buds; marigolds, snapdragons, pink gardenias, and many many more.

Still, Sansa longed for the flowers of the North; snowdrops, white roses, and lavenders. She missed the calming aroma of the purple herbs, the songs she would sing to herself as she picked them.

It was an old lullaby, one her mother loved to sing to her when she was little as she fell asleep.

 _'_ _Lavenders blue, dilly dilly, lavenders green, when I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen…'_

Sansa softly began to hum it to herself as she sat down on a bench, quickly calling Lady to her.

"Hey my girl" Sansa said gently, petting the wolf's fur. "How're you today, huh baby?" She saw the wolf's tail wag and smile. "We're gonna get out of here soon. We just have to find someone to help us…"

That's when she saw someone, an older man—maybe in his mid to late thirties. His hair was graying, and from Sansa's observations, the man resembled a weasel; short (for a man), thin, with a somewhat triangular face. His beard was short, and pointy. Sansa recognized this man as Petyr Baelish, one of the last people to have interacted with her father before he was arrested.

He approached her, sitting down beside her. They had only interacted once prior to this, when Sansa was sat beside him during a tourney. She wasn't all that chatty with him, preferring to speak with Myrcella and Margaery instead.

"Lady Sansa," The man started, sitting down beside her. "I am terribly sorry to have heard about your father's passing,"

Sansa was quiet a minute, looking up at him.

"Oh, thank you…it is very much appreciated" Sansa responded coldly. She barely knew this man, what did he care about her father's passing? It wasn't like she really mattered to this man.

"Forgive me, Lady Sansa. You must remember me," He started, "Petyr Baelish, I was a dear friend of your mother in her childhood"

"She spoke of you," Sansa responded. "She said they called you 'Littlefinger' when you were younger"

The mockingbird scoffed, "I can assure you Sansa, there is much more to me than a childish nickname"

"She said more than that, Lord Baelish. You were like a brother to her," The redhead added.

"Yes, she always did say that…" His heart sank a little. The constant reminders that Catelyn Tully never loved him were never enjoyed or appreciated. However, Sansa had no way of knowing of his feelings for her mother.

Petyr couldn't help but observe how much Sansa looked like her mother; the same fiery hair, the same blue-green eyes. Even their expressions somehow mirrored each other; oh, he could remember sweet Catelyn in her youth like it was yesterday.

"I miss her," Sansa spoke, interrupting Lord Baelish's thoughts. "I wish I could go home, to see her, to see Robb,"

"Now Sansa, it might be impossible to get you back to Winterfell right now. You have far too many enemies around you. With your brother starting a war with the Lannisters, they would love to have you as a hostage, or even as a head on a pike" Petyr spoke with only half-concern. With his connections and chains of brothels about the Seven Kingdoms, bringing Sansa home would be less difficult than he made it out to be.

However, Lord Baelish knew that having the little dove with him could provide a lot for him; he'd have leverage over the Starks, not to mention a little, younger Catelyn to spend time with. She was seventeen, he was thirty-five. It wasn't like a marriage with a gap that big was unheard of. These unholy thoughts spun in Lord Baelish's mind, and though he tried to shake them away, he desperately wanted to indulge them.

"Then what am I to do? Stay in this lion's den where they have me caged like a bird?" Sansa asked, frustration growing in her voice. "Do you want me to die?"

"Not at all, my Lady. This is why I am taking you to the Vale, with me. You will be safe there, I can assure you. Your Aunt Lysa is Lady Paramount of the Eyrie, is she not?" He put a hand on Sansa's shoulder in an attempt to provide some comfort to her.

Lady bore her teeth at Lord Baelish, much to Sansa's surprise.

"Lady, it's okay, he's going to help us" She spoke, stroking the head of her wolf in an attempt to soothe the agitated animal.

"Yes, I will. I will take you to the Eyrie to be with your aunt. Pack your things and your wolf and we will leave by nightfall" Petyr stood up. "I shall go and make arrangements for travel immediately"

"I am forever grateful to you for this, Lord Baelish" Sansa said, giving him a small smile. "Thank you, so much"

"You are Catelyn's child, so you are family to me. You remind me of her so much…" He paused a moment, admiring her one last time. "I will be taking my leave now. Meet me in the courtyard at nightfall"

Littlefinger left, and almost immediately, Lady calmed down. It was like his presence angered animals all about; when he left, the birds began to chirp once more.

"Guess he isn't good with animals, huh girl?" She said, trying to laugh off the slight unease she felt. She was more than happy to leave King's Landing, but something about Lord Baelish was very off. The way he spoke about her mother was slightly creepy, like he was far too fond of her to be 'like a brother to her'.

However, Sansa had to shake this feeling away. This was her only chance to escape. She'd rather be slightly uncomfortable with a family member at the Eyrie than dead meat at King's Landing.

She had never even met her Aunt Lysa, so maybe she would be kind. She had always heard from her mother that Lysa was a little bit on the odd side. Then again, everyone had that family member.

She made her way up to her chambers to pack, but found everything had already been packed up nicely for her. A note sat atop her travel chest.

 _'_ _Save travels, red wolf – Margaery'_

Sansa's heart was warmed by how kind the queen-to-be was. She put the note inside the chest, so that nobody would find it upon her departure.

In the night, Sansa headed to the courtyard, a young man sent by Lord Baelish bringing her travel chest to the carriage. It was hauled in the luggage compartment, while Sansa and Lady were sat in the much more comfortable seating area.

Lord Baelish sat with the girl and her wolf, the wolf once again seeming nervous. Her ears went back, and she lay by Sansa as if trying to protect her.

"Are you excited to meet your aunt, Sansa?" He asked, looking at the fair redhead once more. Sansa nodded her head.

"Yes…" She replied, yawning. In truth, she was nowhere near interested in speaking right now. The girl was exhausted, she needed rest more than anything.

"You must be tired, here" Lord Baelish placed a blanket on Sansa. "Get your rest, little dove. We have a long journey ahead of us"

Sansa drifted off to sleep, Lady's head lying in her lap as normal when she fell asleep sitting up.

As the beautiful redhead slept, Petyr leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead, as if she were a dear family-friend he had known for years. As if she was his sister, his daughter, no…she was Catelyn. A youthful, sweet Catelyn, one who would not reject him. This was his chance to win her all over again.

Forget the name Catelyn Tully, a name that once held so much meaning to him; the name Sansa, Sansa Stark, oh it was more important than that. She was just like her in every way, yet more innocent, more sweet. Sansa would be his chance to have Catelyn, but better.


	10. Chapter 10

The chilly breeze blew through the pine trees that grew in the woods around the Dreadfort. Ramsay was alone right now; he didn't want to bring Myranda on this particular trip. Though he had his bow and arrows ready, he was not in the mood to kill unless provoked. He had gotten his fill of violence for the day when he flayed a servant for bringing his meal cold.

He simply listened to the crunch of the fallen leaves and pine needles beneath his feet, lost in his own thoughts; thoughts of her, the red wolf who made misery a little less miserable. The only thing he couldn't imagine hurting; Sansa, his sweet, innocent Sansa.

The forest was thick but silent, rarely did a bird ever sing—aside from the off-chance a crow may be cawing. Truly the Dreadfort was a haunting place few could enjoy. However was Ramsay comforted by this; just like him the castle and surrounding wood was scary, dark, intimidating.

Occasionally he would see bones lying about of both the human and animal variety. Some of the more recent kills remained pinned to tree trunks like paintings to a wall. He was proud of these; the blood and rotting flesh was pure art in eyes. Nature's art was death; for in death the body returns to the earth, becoming one with the worms and insects that humanity could tend to behave like. Very few were good in this world, which is part of the reason why Sansa was so special.

That's when he heard light whimpering, like that of a dog. Intrigued, Ramsay began to approach the noise. Maybe one of his hounds had escaped and gotten lost—highly unlikely, but feral dogs were rather common around the Dreadfort, for usually Ramsay would adopt them into his pack of hungry, vicious canines. He felt more kinship with the dogs than people, if he were honest with himself. If there was a new lost pup in the woods, he'd gladly raise it to be a killing machine and an obedient companion.

The noises directed him to a pile of bones, a little meat remaining on them. The sounds were sourced from a little pup—but not the kind he was expecting. It was a bit large for a puppy, maybe it was half wolf. It had raven-black fur, excluding a little spot on its chest—that little patch was russet, just like the locks of his most desired conquest.

He knelt down and got a closer look, seeing the dog had amber eyes, almost red, like that of a hellhound. He reached out his hand, as if beckoning for the little puppy to come closer. It immediately smelled him, beginning to sniff his hand to sense if he was a threat or not.

"It's alright boy, don't worry" He spoke, much gentler than he had ever spoken to someone before. "Don't be scared, I won't hurt you"

It was completely out of character to his usual self, but he always had a soft spot for dogs, especially ones that looked wolf-like.

The pup then licked his hand, signaling that he accepted Ramsay as a non-threat. As this happened, he picked up the baby animal and held it in his arms, gentle as a father cradling his newborn.

"You're the sign I've been looking for…" He marveled, smiling at the little wolf. He was a symbol, this little pup. A symbol of the love that will blossom between he and sweet Sansa Stark. He stroked the fur on its head as he headed for the castle.

"I shall call you…Fenrir. What do you think?" He asked, looking at the wolf's yellow eyes. It licked his hand, approving of its new name. It let out a little howl, a joyful one. He seemed happy to have his new master.

"Yes, Fenrir. You and I are going to be wonderful friends, boy" He spoke gently, mindlessly stroking his fur as he brought him home.

As he carried the pup home, Sansa remained on his mind. It was like the Gods themselves has sent little Fenrir as a definitive sign that Sansa would love him. It even had a little auburn patch near his heart, as red as Sansa's hair. There's no way. He was even more determined to have her now.


	11. Chapter 11

"I can't do this" Robb groaned. Gods, was he frustrated right now. Marry a Frey girl? He knew it was his duty. After all, he had already been allowed access to the land around the Twins, plus Frey men fighting at his side would be massively useful to him in battle. Even as strong as the Stark army was, with extra help they could cut through the Lannister army like soft cheese.

"It's not for you, Robb, your /kingdom/ needs you to do this. You need to save your sister, avenge your father—my husband. Please, move on from that healer girl…" Catelyn remarked. It pained her to see her son like this.

"I know, mother I just…" He sighed. "I can't believe she just…ran off with someone else"

He sighed and sat down, running a hand through his auburn hair.

"If you want my opinion, you shouldn't have bedded her in the first place. Your father would be so ashamed" She shook her head. "Dishonoring a woman like that, do we really need another Stark bastard? I was sure Jon was enough"

"You don't understand" He uttered. "I loved her"

"As if that's a valid excuse?" She wanted to backhand her son right now. "Robb Stark, you are nineteen. You're an adult, king in the North. Act like one"

Robb was one who, despite his upbringing being centered on honor, was a firm believer in true love. He felt like the night he slept with Talisa, he was in love with her. Maybe that wasn't the case, maybe she was just another woman who wanted to sleep with the King in The North. It tore his heart apart that he had been used like this. Maybe he wasn't fit to be a king after all.

"I know it's hard Robb, when I was a girl I wanted to marry for love and live happily ever after. Your father was not my ideal choice when I was a girl, but I married him still. It was my duty to my house and his," Catelyn began to explain, trying to seem calmer now. She already regretted snapping at him.

"I know, I just—" He was interrupted by a finger to his lips.

"I'm not finished. I loved a man before your father, Robb, his brother, but things did not work out for the two of us. I hold my regrets too, trust me" She sighed and wrapped an arm around him. "Focus on your duty, and love will come after. Just like it did with me and father"

Robb simply nodded, standing up. She was right. He couldn't just impair himself and his family by not marrying a Frey girl.

"You're right, mother" He spoke. "The North's fate is more important than some girl from Volantis"

"My brother had already chosen a Frey girl to wed, so naturally I believe you'll be next. The girls are waiting" Catelyn told him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before she exited.

For a moment Robb sat alone, staring into space. He needed to collect himself a moment before he went to the great hall of the Twins. He took a deep breath and stood, before finally following his mother inside.

Inside, Walder Frey sat on the throne, his daughters standing in a line like soldiers standing at attention. Most of them were nothing special; homely little things who seemed more than discontent. They had an assortment of hair colors and facial structures—clearly their mothers were different. The old Frey lord went through wives like a spoiled child would go through toys.

Only one thing was similar about these Frey girls; they all looked absolutely miserable.

"I see you finally agreed to marry one of my girls" He grunted. "Hurry up and choose, they won't be gettin' any prettier"

Robb was uncomfortable with how uncouth the old man was. Speaking of his own daughters in such a disrespectful manner—not even Robert Baratheon would have referred to his children like this.

The Young Wolf observed his selection. Some of the girls were as young as twelve—too young to have even flowered. He couldn't imagine why Lord Frey would wish to marry a girl so young. Others were as old as his mother—the least attractive of the lot, to be certain. One had a large infection on her lip, and another's eyes bulged and crossed. He pitied them, the poor dears would likely never escape the castle.

Suddenly, he laid eyes upon one particular girl. She was absolutely stunning; her mahogany locks braided back halfway like women in the North do. Her skin was as white as the snow in Winterfell. The prettiest thing about this young maiden was here eyes—oh, those emerald green eyes. They shimmered with intelligence and kindness. Robb didn't even know this young woman's name, but he was enchanted.

Slowly, he approached her, taking her dainty hand in his. She seemed so shy, so fragile. He couldn't imagine her life up until this point, but he wanted to give her a better future.

"And what might your name be, my lady?" He inquired, using a softer voice as to not intimidate her.

The girl spoke in a quiet voice, one that seemed scared to speak in fear of punishment for doing so.

"Corlisse is my name, your grace" She said.

"Well, my dear Corlisse, I would be more than honored to make you my queen in the North…" He spoke, bringing her out of the line of girls.

"Made your choice, eh boy?" Walder began. "A fine queen you've chosen. She's got a tight fit I can guarantee—still got 'er maidenhead. If you got any issues with her down the road, just smack 'er hard and she'll shut up"

Robb was interally appalled by this. How could a man hate his own children enough to advise their spouse to strike them? It baffled the Young Wolf more than anything.

Corlisse seemed eager to depart, and taking Robb's arm she tried to get him out of the room.

"Now, now. Where are you headed then, girl?" Walder began, crooking his finger. "You oughta help your sister prepare for her wedding"

Corlisse crooked a brow.

"Wedding? Lord Frey, wasn't she engaged to Edumure…today?" Robb asked, confused.

"No time like the present, my boy!" The grumpy old man spoke. "Now Corlisse, go be a good child and help your damn sister"

Corlisse sighed, pecking Robb on the cheek.

"Come see me tonight" She whispered. "I'll be at your tent—I want to get to know my King personally!"

It was completely innocent, but as the girl walked away, Robb couldn't help but blush. Still, he shook off his attraction to turn back to his mother, who was departing.

"Mother, tonight? What's his rush?" He asked, befuddled.

"He likes to marry his girls as fast as possible, I've known him since I was a child" She replied. "He's a bit of a dirty old git to be certain, but he certainly is hasty about marriages…"

"You'd think he'd want to marry Corlisse first, considering y'know…I'm a king" Robb spoke, trying not to sound too cocky.

"I suppose first come, first served…" Even Catelyn could admit that this was a strange move. She would most certainly be on her guard tonight.


	12. Chapter 12

They Eyrie was nothing like anywhere Sansa had seen before. King's Landing was gaudy, Winterfell was rustic, but the Eyrie had a look to it that the redhead didn't know how to place. It was almost like entering a temple of sorts, a temple to the moon (seeing as much of the décor was centered on just that). The colors were all light and earthy; pale blues, greens and beiges.

The great hall was circular, with a round panel in the middle. It bore a light blue moon symbol—she couldn't help but imagine that this was the fabled moon-door that was spoken of so many times before.

As she and Lord Baelish made their entrance, a mother and her son appeared. Lysa Arryn was skinny as a stick, her face just as thin as her body. Catelyn had aged far better than her younger sister. At thirty-seven, the woman appeared to be shrunken in her own skin.

"Uncle Petyr!" Robin Arryn exclaimed, going to hug the weasel of a man.

"Oh, it is truly wonderful to see you again, my darling" Lysa spoke, giving the man a kiss on the cheek.

Sansa was surprised to see him be welcomed so warmly by this widow—clearly, Jon Arryn did not have a faithful wife when he was alive. Her young son did have a slight resemblance to Lord Baelish.

"And you've brought my darling little niece along…oh my little bird, look at you. So much like your mother…" There was a shadow of resentment in Lysa's voice, almost impossible to detect—but there for certain.

"Oh, thank you Lady Arryn—" Sansa started, but she was interrupted.

"Please, call me Aunt Lysa" The older woman spoke. "No need to be formal with me"

Sansa was then pulled into a hug, and at first, she hugged back. The embrace overstayed its welcome within seconds, and soon Sansa was standing there while Lysa just held her.

Sansa eventually wriggled out of her arms—a harder task than it sounded.

"Now, its been so long since I've seen Petyr—we must speak alone. Robin, show Sansa to her bedroom" Lysa instructed, pointing to the hallways. Robin grabbed Sansa's hand excitedly.

Sansa was only minutes out of the Great Hall when Robin got distracted, wondering off. Not a shocker—he seemed quite the bird-brain. She couldn't help but feel curious about her aunt and Lord Baelish's relationship. Surely, if Robin felt close enough to Lord Baelish to call him uncle, there was something going on here. She hid behind a column stealthily and listened in.

"How I have missed you, love" Lysa spoke, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. Sansa scrunched her nose in disgust at this—and though it was hard to tell for the redhead (given she had to peek from behind a column) he seemed pretty disgusted himself.

Petyr hid his disgust, managing to pull away before she could take note of it.

"It has been a while, hasn't it? When did I last see you?" He asked, stroking her hair to feign affection. It felt thinner, stringier than Catelyn and Sansa's, as if she'd been under constant stress since she left the womb.

Her eyes widened in excitement.

"Oh, I remember so well. You helped me slip poison into Jon's wine…" She spoke. "So that we could truly be together, just me and you…"

Sansa almost gasped in shock, but she kept quiet. She shouldn't be hearing this, she would be killed if she was caught. She stayed back, not wanting her footsteps to be heard at an inconvenient time.

"And our baby boy…" Lysa continued. "Little Robin reminds me of his father so much…

Lord Baelish felt bile rising in his stomach. He hated to accept that Robin was actually his child, entirely because he hated the fact he had to have sex with Lysa in order for this child to even exist.

The only reason he'd done so that maybe he could marry her, see Catelyn more and maybe have a bit more power under his belt. However, neither thing came to be. Catelyn married into the North, and Lysa married into the Vale. He'd only gain power after Jon Arryn died.

"He does, doesn't he? But he has your charm" He responded. Robin had no charm to speak of, but then again, neither did his mother.

"Now, tonight we should marry. No big celebration, just me and you, like we always wanted" She spoke, stroking his cheek. "Say you will, my love…please"

Petyr thought for a moment. He despised this unstable and feeble woman, but still. She was Lady Paramount of the Vale, and he would become Lord Paramount if he married her.

Power was more important. He'd get rid of Lysa, and then he could have Sansa as his bride. If she wasn't useful in politics, anyway. She is an important piece to have on hand.

"I see nothing stopping us" He spoke in his silvery voice, kissing her forehead.

Sansa acted as if she had just walked in, as if she hadn't heard the conversation at all.

"Oh, Aunt Lysa, Lord Baelish…I didn't know you…you had something…" She spoke, her voice surprised and a little awkward.

"I have loved Petyr since I was a girl, Sansa. He's a wonderful man…" Lysa responded. "Ignore any loud sounds you may hear, for when my husband makes love to me I will scream like I'm a virgin again!"

Sansa couldn't mask how uncomfortable her saying that made her feel. She exchanged a quick glance with Littlefinger, who seemed to share her secondhand embarrassment.

A few minutes of silence passed, before finally someone broke it.

"I shall call for a septon—the wedding shall happen tonight" Petyr said, hoping to distract Sansa from the thought of Lysa in anywhere near a sexual situation.

"I congratulate you both," Sansa said, starting upstairs. "I—I'll be taking my leave now…"

Sansa headed up to her chambers as fast as possible. Robin may not have shown her to them, but she knew their location thanks to a servant leading her. She got immediate privacy and began to write in her diary. She couldn't deliver this information to Robb just yet—it was just too risky. Plus, with the Vale as a possible ally, she couldn't risk it getting out.

Later that night, Sansa laid in bed, Lady curled up at her feet. She was unable to sleep—her aunt made true on her promise. She was already nauseated from the mere thought of having to envision the consummation of their marriage, did she really needed the sounds to go along with it? They sounded like the nightmarish cross between childbirth and a donkey's bray.

She tried to cover her ears with her pillow, but it seemed ineffective. Thus, she sat up and looked out the window, deciding that getting lost in space would make her block it out.

The sounds seemed to fade as she began to wonder what was happening at home. What was Robb doing? Was he safe? She had heard he'd secured an alliance with house Frey. That was good, wasn't it? Poor Sansa had no idea. All she knew was that she was dreadfully homesick. She belonged in the North, with her family.

The stars in the sky shone brightly that night, and for the first time in years, she noticed the evening star.

"I'm about to seem so, so foolish" She spoke to herself, sighing. "I wish…I wish I could return to the North…"

 _…_ _careful what you wish for_


	13. Chapter 13

Robb was in his tent, alone for once in his life. He was thinking over the events that had just conspired—his betrothal to a surprisingly beautiful girl, and an immediate wedding for his cousin. It felt all so…surreal. Like it was a dream, or he was living in fast-forward.

He still felt surreal, even as someone entered the opening of his tent.

Corlisse's dark hair had a slight glimmer in the moonlight, and her milky-white skin had a beautiful dewy glow. She was dressed in a blue robe which covered a white nightgown—clearly, she'd snuck out of her chambers to see him.

"I'm so sorry to be coming to you at such an hour…" She said softly, walking into the tent as cautious as possible, as if walking on thin ice, wishing not to fall through.

"It's fine, my lady…but I must ask what you're doing awake," Robb began, gesturing for his intended to sit beside him.

"Well…to put it frankly, I…I wanted to get to know you, your grace" She said. "I-I know, I must sound foolish…"

"Not at all—and, if we're to marry, you don't have to use a title. As far as you're concerned, I'm Robb" He told her, holding her hands.

"Well, Robb, I feel like I never got to properly introduce myself. I am Corlisse," She left out the Frey. She was no Frey, she never wanted to be. "I'm eighteen, and…well, I like doing your typical lady things—sewing, singing, that stuff. I'm none too special…I just wanted to talk about you…"

"I'm sure there's more to you than 'typical lady things', Corlisse" He assured her. "I'm no different than any other young man my age, really. I suppose the only thing that separates me is my cause"

"Your cause is a noble one" The brunette girl began "I think it does separate you. No ordinary man would be brave enough to do what you're doing…"

"Most say I'm not brave, I'm foolish. Or crazy. Or a combination" Robb chuckled a little, hiding the fact those comments always haunted the back of his mind.

"Many a good king was once called a fool or insane" She responded. "I can't think of a good leader who was backed by everyone he knew"

"Well, I suppose you're right on that," He replied. "But you know, they say behind every great man there is a great woman"

"And she should be the _only_ woman. I hear stories about powerful men like you messing around, ignoring their wives and leaving them all alone…" She had been raised in an environment where her father switched wives every year it seemed, so naturally she felt deeply concerned about how faithful he would be to her.

Robb wrapped an arm around her, looking into her eyes.

"Listen to me, I promise that I will not ever be unfaithful. I may not know you well yet, but I am a man of honor. I don't plan to be running around having bastards left and right like Robert Baratheon" He kissed her forehead. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New…"

"Then…can I please spend the night with you?" She asked, blushing. "I don't intend to do anything, y'know, improper…I just don't want to sleep alone"

Robb was surprised, but certainly not disappointed by this at all. Though he was certainly honorable, he couldn't deny that as a nineteen year old, he had urges. Urges he desired to act upon with this beautiful girl.

"I don't…imagine what people may think, my darling. I can't have people thinking I've dishonored you before our wedding night" He spoke, his hands going to stroke her soft, thick brown curls. "You must understand…"

"Nobody has to know I was here…please, I don't want to be alone, Robb" She responded, burying her face into his chest. "Please, my sisters…"

"What's the matter with your sisters?" He asked, growing concerned.

"They were all so angry, because you'd chosen to marry me…they took my things and started to destroy them…" Corlisse explained, her voice growing weak. "They called me terrible things"

"Did they?" He gritted his teeth. "What did they say to you, then?"

"That I'm a whore, that I had provided…f-favors that made you pick me…" She was tearing up.

"Now, these girls are just jealous of you. Do you know why I chose you?" He asked, rubbing her back to comfort her. It broke his heart to see this young woman so hurt.

Corlisse simply shook her head.

"Because I saw something in you I didn't see in any of those other girls, my darling. You wanted to marry me for more than the fact that I'm a king. You saw me behind it all, I just knew it" He told her. "You've got more to you than just your undeniably beautiful face"

"That's so…so sweet. That's really why you chose me?" She asked, her green eyes wide. She was so touched, she hadn't even noticed she was moving closer to him.

"Yes, of course. My queen needs to be compassionate above all things…and that's what you are. You're kind, Corlisse, and I just so happen to be lucky enough to marry you" He responded. He could feel her breath on his face.

"I think you mean… I'm lucky enough to marry you" Her voice got low as she finally leaned in, pressing her lips against his.

Robb kissed her back immediately. He didn't want to wait anymore, he couldn't control himself. He was totally, completely in love with this girl.

They only pulled back from each other when they absolutely had to. Corlisse gazed into his eyes, and Robb gazed back into hers. They were in total understanding that this was true love, and they shouldn't fight it.

For the rest of the night, he held her in his arms, speaking sweet words until she fell asleep clinging to him. He loved her, and he had only known her today. Why had he even fought his mother on marrying a Frey girl? Corlisse was better than Talisa by a long shot. Why had he even considered this healer from Volantis? Simple; he hadn't met his true love. He'd been waiting for this girl far too long.

However, tonight was the calm before the storm.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa had arrived at they Eyrie only weeks ago, but Lysa treated her as if she'd lived here her whole life. She couldn't help but feel that it was a farce, like Lysa was putting on some sort of show for her. She could always tell when the cracks were showing, especially when Sansa would get particular attention from Petyr.

Dinner that night was boiled potatoes with butter and garlic, roasted quail and vegetables. Nothing particularly big or fancy, but Sansa enjoyed it moderately.

"I must say Sansa, you look fantastic in that dress, it suits you" Petyr spoke. He'd picked out an entire wardrobe of clothing for her based off of what ladies of the Vale would wear.

" Oh, thank you…" Sansa didn't like it as much as Lord Baelish did. She felt uncomfortable—it just didn't suit her at all. "I'm flattered, my lord"

"Please, call me Petyr" He requested.

Sansa just stayed quiet. She could feel someone glaring at her, someone boring into her soul with narrowed eyes.

"My lord, there are matters that require you attention" One of his advisors had entered.

"I shall be taking my leave, then. Ladies, behave while I'm gone" Lord Baelish said with a smirk as he stood up.

Dessert was brought out only moments after he had exited. Sansa immediately went for the lemon cakes, as she always did when they had them available.

"You know your mother also had a sweet tooth" Lysa began, taking a candied almond and popping it into her mouth. "At dinnertime she'd always go for the desserts; honey-cakes, custard, anything sweet. You know, it got so bad that your grandfather had a septa watch her to make sure she didn't take too much"

"Really?" Sansa seemed surprised. Her mother always did like her desserts, but she had never thought her to be an over-eater.

"Oh yes. She was the eldest daughter, so he had to make sure that she would stay desirable for anyone who might want to marry her—she was starting to get a bit fat" Her aunt continued.

Sansa considered her own body a moment. She was curvy, and her body was soft. Was that undesirable? She finished her lemon cake, but she decided to hold off on eating any more sweets.

"My mother, fat?" She couldn't imagine that Catelyn Tully Stark would ever be fat. She had a little sweet tooth, but she had better self control than anyone else in the Stark family when it came to food. "She never let me have custard or cake until I'd finished my supper. Nothing could be left on my plate"

"Well, that was before she married your father. Marriage changes people, Sansa. It will change you someday" Lysa explained.

"Oh—I didn't mean for you to stop. Go on, enjoy! They're for you, darling" She spoke, noticing that Sansa wasn't eating her treats.

Sansa took another lemon cake, somewhat hesitant to continue eating. Still, she didn't want to be rude. These _were_ made for her.

"They're delicious, Aunt Lysa" She said, smiling before licking her lips. "How'd you get the lemons up here? They don't fare well in this weather…"

"Petyr had three crates imported from King's Landing, he knew you loved them" Lysa started. "He seems to know a lot about you"

"Well, he knew my mother and father, plus he brought me up here. I suppose it isn't unreasonable" Sansa added. "He's very kind"

"He really is, isn't he?" Lysa responded, her tone beginning to shift from benevolence to something akin to envy. "Keeping you safe…"

"Because, well, he feels responsible for me" Sansa spoke. "I suppose that's why"

"Why does he feel responsible for you?" her aunt inquired, agitation in her voice.

There was a second of silence. Sansa needed to choose her words carefully.

"Well, I'm half Tully, he knows my mother very well. He loves – this family very much" Sansa stuttered a little, which made Lysa very upset.

"That's not what you meant to say. You wanted to say he loved your mother" The older woman's voice began to raise.

"No it's not, Lord Baelish loves you, he's married to you!" Sansa replied frantically, her heart beginning to race.

"Catelyn never loved him, not like I did Sansa! She always went for the sweetest, most obvious thing. She went for your uncle Brandon, the handsome, arrogant Brandon Stark" She almost hissed this words. "He almost killed Petyr in a duel…and your mother, she loved him anyway!"

Sansa was silent as a dead leaf, a cowering puppy in the corner.

"Now he is risking his life to save you…the daughter of a woman who _never_ loved him, no more than the whores who work in his brothels" Her anger was so great, she was squeezing Sansa's hands like a vice. "Oh, has he told you about them?"

"N-No" Sansa managed to stutter out.

"He hasn't told you the vile things they let him do with their bodies?" She inquired, practically interrogating the seventeen year old.

"No, never…" The redheaded teen's eyes filled with tears. She was scared now—she hated feeling confronted like this. It made her sick to her stomach.

"Are you pregnant?" Lysa asked accusatorially, her hands squeezing so hard they left bruises.

"No, I've never even been married, I would never—"

"What have you let Petyr do with your body?" She asked, her teeth gritting.

"What? Aunt Lysa, I would never—"

"Your young, pretty body?" Her voice was raising, her pace more frantic and angry.

"Nothing, I'd never! I'm a virgin"

"Don't lie to me, don't lie to your flesh and blood!" Lysa raised a hand.

Tears spilled down Sansa's face.

"I'm a virgin, I swear it! Aunt Lysa, you're hurting me!" She spoke through tears.

"I'll _know_ if you're lying, girl" The older woman almost growled it.

"Aunt Lysa, he loves you! All he says about me is that I'm a stupid girl with stupid dreams and I'll never learn, and that I'm a bad liar so I should just tell the truth!" She cried. Lord Baelish had never said those things directly, but she always felt like he would. She was sobbing at this point, her face in her hands.

Lysa rose from her seat, pulling her arms around Sansa, hugging her in an attempt to comfort her. It was like a switch was turned in her brain.

"Shhh, shh…" She soothed, as if she was not the one who had just inflicted these blows to her psyche. "Its alright, its alright. Soon enough you'll be safe, married. You're just the right age"

Sansa stayed in her arms a moment, before pulling away and wiping her tears away.

"I should go to bed…its getting late," The ginger spoke as she pulled away. "Goodnight, aunt Lysa"

"Goodnight, sweet girl" She spoke. It was like she was two different people entirely.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: if you like this fanfic, please, please leave a review telling me what was good and what needs improvement. All I ask is that you are corteous and polite about it!


	15. Chapter 15

Roslin Frey and Edmure Tully made a nice couple. Not a particularly exciting one, nothing was truly of note about either them. Robb was certainly happy for his uncle, and happy for his soon to be wife's sister, but he felt like there was something wrong about it. All the right formalities and such were there, but something was off.

Corlisse sat next to Robb at the feast table, which gave him some comfort. At least his intended was there with him. Greywind was stealthily under the table—he was a big wolf, but not too big to hide under a table and eat any dropped morsels his master may have.

"I've never seen my father so…pleased" She mentioned, gesturing to the grin on his face. "It feels wrong, Robb"

"Don't be scared, we're heading for Winterfell as soon as this is over. We'll be out soon, and you never have to see him again. I promise you" Robb responded, holding her hand and gently running his thumb over the top of it. "You can come back home with me and we'll be King and Queen in the North"

"What about the war?" She asked. "You'll have to go back to it…"

"I know, and with you in my heart, I've no doubt that I'm going to win" He leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"You mustn't get too arrogant, darling. It'll be the death of you" Corlisse advised.

"I'm doing my best" He responded, not really taking the words to heart. He was the Young Wolf, he felt invincible.

Across the room, Catelyn couldn't help but feel a pit of dread in her stomach. Something was afoot, and she didn't like it. She would not leave her son's side, but she would be vigilant of her surroundings.

The air was thick with tension when Walder Frey stood up, looking to the bride and groom and gesturing to them.

"Now we have united these two in souls, but they have yet to united," The old man paused to cough, drinking some of his wine. "in flesh. What's a good wedding…without a bedding?"

The old Frey lord had made the crowd excited. Men rose from their seats to start guiding Roslin to bed, beginning to undress her on the way, while women did the same of Edmure. Corlisse and Robb did not want or have to get involved, luckily.

As the bride and groom were ushered out, the hall went silent. It was a sort of silence that made one sick to their stomach, the silence that deafens the ears. The silence remained for several moments, not a single person breathing a word. It was eerie.

Then, the music picked up. It was somber, sad. Not the kind of music one would expect at such an occasion.

"Quite cheerful music they had planned…" Corlisse commented. "I guess house Frey was never cheerful, though"

"It sounds familiar, actually" Robb added. "I can't quite place it…"

The sound of the music seemed to put everyone in the room into a silent trance. Though it was a fully instrumental song, it seemed to tell a story. A sad, lamentable story of a family slain—and a warning.

"Now, a toast to our king" Walder Frey began. "For I have given him many things tonight. I have given him good food, enough wine to drown an ironborn fleet, but I feel like I have yet to show my true hospitality"

The door was shut, and all seven hells broke loose.

Everything happened so quickly. Above the hall stood an array of men armed with crossbows. As soon as the music ended, they began to shoot. Though many men loyal to house Stark tried to fend them off, it was no use. They were trapped, caught in the vulnerable of circumstances.

Blood dyed the floors red as the honorable dead lie dead upon it. The growls of an angered wolf could be heard as Greywind began to maul those who attempted to get near his master.

"Blasted mutt!" Exclaimed one of the Frey men, who quickly shot the wolf in the back with his crossbow. The canine let out a whine of pain and ran off, but it would not forget what had just conspired.

"That's right, run away" The man continued. "Run away like the traitor your master is!"

Robb, in the midst of it, a few arrows in his body—he didn't think they'd hit vital organs, but he couldn't be sure.

Roose Bolton stood in the back with a knife and approached, stabbing him in the back, not even noticing he had hit not a single vital place. Robb winced in pain and fell to the ground.

"The Lannisters send their regards…your grace" He hissed, leaving the knife in his back as he departed. His work was done.

Corlisse made herself 'fall' on top of him. The way she laid on top of him prevented him from bleeding out—her body weight applied the right amount of pressure.

Meanwhile, Catelyn lay on the floor, unwounded. She'd managed to hide herself under a table while everyone was being shot. She'd watched her son and her daughter-in-law fall. She watched Greywind tear the throat out of more than one assassin before slipping away. She'd seen so much, and she wasn't even sure if she could move.

There was a great silence in the hall now. Dead bodies remained on the ground, while the barely alive body of Robb Stark tried to bring himself to his mother, but found that he couldn't. It hurt too much, like he was being dragged on a ball and chain across splintering wood.

Pain seared through the body of the injured king, wishing he could at least let out a single anguished groan. He couldn't. The pain was so intense, he blacked out.

Corlisse panicked when his eyes shut. She began to shake him, hoping that would wake him up.

"Robb, no, you can't die, no…" She started to cry, clinging his chest.

Catelyn rose up and fixed her son's arm around her shoulder, looking at Corlisse and expecting her to the do the same. They had to get him back to Winterfell.


	16. Chapter 16

Sansa had heard the news of her brother's assassination. She reread the words multiple times, in utter disbelief.

"It's not true…" She spoke to herself, tears forming in her eyes. "There's no way"

"It's tragic, isn't it little dove?" Petyr spoke, putting a hand on her shoulder. "How cruel the world is?"

In truth, Lord Baelish cared very little about the apparent death of Robb Stark. It didn't matter—he was just another casualty of the cutthroat chaos of Westerosi politics.

"My poor brother…my mother…they're gone" Sansa sobbed.

"Come here, come here…" Lord Baelish hugged her to his chest, like he'd wanted to for such a long time.

"It's going to be okay," He started, stroking her hair. It was soft, so similar to Catelyn's and so different from Lysa. "You're here now, away from them. I will protect you,"

She felt uncomfortable in Lord Baelish's arms. It wasn't like hugging her mother, no. He was holding her too close for too long—it transformed from providing comfort, to taking it away.

Sansa pulled back from the hug, finding more comfort outside of his embrace.

"I'll never go home, will I?" She sniffled, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

"Sansa, this is home," Petyr grabbed her face gently, seeing the youthful Catelyn Tully in her eyes. The girl he'd chased for years—but not betrothed to anyone. No, he can control her destiny. Without thinking, he kissed her.

The redhead was still, utterly disgusted and horrified of what was happening. She couldn't force herself to move away, she just stood there in utter shock until he pulled away.

She ripped herself away from his grasp this time and left the corridors, entering the great hall.

Little did she know, Lysa had seen Lord Baelish kiss her—and she was enraged.

"Sansa, what a…a pleasant surprise. I was just searching for you," Lady Arryn began, attempting to regain composure.

The redhead's heart was thudding in her chest.

"Come here, won't you?" The older woman was somber, quiet.

Silently, Sansa approached her aunt. She knew that no good could come of this, but she could only imagine disobeying would get her into more trouble.

The two gazed down at the moondoor a moment. Sansa felt dizzy just looking at it.

"Beautiful, isn't it? I often imagine this is how the Gods feel looking down upon us mortals. Do have any idea how far the fall is?" Lysa asked calmly.

"No," Sansa replied, unable to answer anything else.

"Neither do I, precisely. Hundreds of feet, for certain" Lysa began, still staring down at the rocky fall. "It's truly fascinating, when the bodies hit the rocks from such a height"

Sansa's knees buckled from anxiety, her hands fidgeting as she gazed down as well.

"The impact breaks them right apart" She continued, her voice eerily steady. "Like eggs dropped on the floor. Makes you realize just how fragile life is, how one wrong step can kill you in an instant"

Sansa began to feel dizzy, nauseated. She looked at Lysa with wide, fearful eyes.

"Sometimes pieces remain intact. You'll find a head sitting on its own—every pretty hair in place. Lifeless, one bright blue eyes…staring at nothing. Their mouth agape in horror and pain…" Her voice began to tremble, anger seething right below the surface of her thin face.

Sansa took one step back, not wishing to look down the moondoor any longer. She thought she was going to die if she didn't.

"I know what you did" Her eyes did not move away from the drop.

"I'm so sorry, Aunt Lysa, I shouldn't have hit Robin—" She'd no clue that Lysa had seen Petyr force a kiss, so she just assumed it must've been something regarding Robin.

"Oh don't be coy with me, you little whore!" Now the old Tully's voice raised as she finally looked at the young redhead. She saw Catelyn, young, beautiful Catelyn. The girl who was always better than her, the one men adored, the one _Petyr_ adored. She was taking him from her all over again.

"You kissed him, my husband, my Petyr!" She hissed, grabbing Sansa's arm.

"No, I didn't, you don't understand!" Sansa began to panic. "I would never, Aunt Lysa!"

"You can't lie to me girl, I saw it with my own eyes!" The woman angrily responded, her eyes displaying nothing but pure madness.

"I didn't kiss him! He kissed me, I pulled away—" She wasn't permitted to finish her sentence. Lady Arryn grabbed Sansa by the back of her hair and got a good fistful, making her kneel down and look at the moondoor's deadly drop. She whimpered in pain, tears forming in her eyes.

"LIAR!" Lysa yelled, not caring one bit how Sansa cried. "He is mine! And no young, beautiful thing will take him from me! Look down! My father, my sister, they're all dead! Look down—that's what happens to people who stand between me and my destiny!"

Sansa shut her eyes, still sobbing. She shook her head, or at least attempted to.

"Open your eyes, I said look down!" Lysa screamed. "Look down!"

"Lysa!" Petyr entered the room, coming as soon as he heard Sansa crying.

The older woman turned and looked back, seeing him. She froze in place.

Sansa looked back as well, her eyes pleading Lord Baelish to help. She couldn't ask for it—it would only make her look worse in the eyes of her aunt. She'd make her fly for certain if she asked for help.

"Let her go" Lord Baelish commanded.

Lysa was still frozen, staring at him with wide eyes. She did not let go, she was too caught in jealousy.

"You love her," She spoke, her voice shaking. "She's just like her mother, she'll never love you! I lied for you Petyr, I _killed_ for you! Why did you bring her here, why?"

"Let. Her. Go." He said it more viciously this time. "I'll send her away, just let her go. I swear, on my life, to all the Gods. Let her go, Lysa,"

The older woman broke her trance and freed Sansa of her grasp. The redheaded teen stepped back, but she did not leave. She was frozen, pulled into this room by some invisible force. Fate needed her in this room.

Lysa burst into uncontrollable sobs as Lord Baelish approached her.

"My dear, dear wife" He spoke, his arms open, beckoning her into them. She ran into them, clinging to him as if her life depended upon it.

She continued to cry, his hands caressing her cheeks and drying her tears. Even Sansa found it hard to conceive that he was fabricating this affection.

"My sweet, silly wife…you know I have only loved one woman in my entire life" He told her, kissing her cheek.

Lysa nodded, not caring how close she was to the edge of the moondoor. She could trust her husband to catch her if she slipped.

"Only one," He told her, keeping her face in his hands. "And do you know who that is?"

She nodded once more. She knew it was her, it had to be her.

He pulled her close, his lips next to her ear.

"Your sister" He hissed.

Lysa's face twisted, but before she could speak a word, Petyr pushed her. She fell down the moondoor, and he watched with the shadow of a grin on his face. He watched as her body hit the rocks, but looked back to see the fearful Sansa.

"She'll never bother you again, dear Sansa" He told her, helping her to her feet and kissing her forehead. "Now go to your chambers, rest. If anyone asks, Lady Arryn tragically threw herself from the moondoor upon hearing of her sister's passing"

Sansa ran back upstairs and immediately went to Lady, hugging her tights and crying into her wolf's fur.

"We're stuck here, aren't we? We're stuck here…" Sansa sobbed. "We'll never go home, Gods, I just want to go home Lady…"

The wolf let out a saddened whine, keeping herself close to Sansa.

"Can't something happen, I don't even care if I'm not going back to Winterfell. I just want to be in the North, away from that…that weasel of a man" Sansa shuddered. "If I have to marry a bastard, I will. Anything to be safe,"


	17. Chapter 17

Ramsay was outside the castle grounds, walking alone. He had been training Fenrir for a considerable amount of time that morning, and he was a bit worn out. Though the dog was intelligent, he was also quite stubborn. Such was the behavior of a direwolf being trained by a Bolton rather than a Stark. Still, he loved his canine friend more than anyone else at the Dreadfort.

"Ramsay," Roose had followed him out. Usually Lord Bolton was content to let his bastard wander as he pleased. "Walk with me, I need to speak to you"

This was quite a rarity. Ramsay couldn't help but imagine he was to be scolded for his brutal ways of dealing with his father's enemies.

"I must say, you are quite efficient at disposing of enemies, or at least intimidating them into shutting up" The Bolton Lord began. "I congratulate you for running those seafaring scum out of the North"

"It was my pleasure, father. I've displayed the bodies of a few soldiers outside—surely, you've seen them" Ramsay gestured to the two skinless bodies on flaying crosses at the gates of the castle. "Their skin will be of great use, maybe I'll even fashion something for you"

He had no intention of doing that unless it may get him legitimized. His father did not deserve any leather made from skin he flayed. That was his effort and it did not deserve to be wasted on a man who scolded him for it.

"You show great loyalty to house Bolton, even for just being my bastard" It was almost uncharacteristic, what Roose was saying. He didn't give praise to Ramsay often, and even if did, it never sounded sincere.

"It's the least I can do. Regardless of me being a Snow, you are still my father" The young bastard responded, quite pleased to be receiving such compliments. He had fantasized about being appreciated by his family for years, and now, it seems he'd finally won that appreciation.

The pair reached a hilltop. It was a windy, overcast afternoon. The word 'gloomy' would best describe this chilly autumn day.

"Tell me Ramsay, what do you see?" Roose inquired, pointing out to the vast land ahead of them. A beautiful, bleak picture—and not another castle for miles.

"Moors, fields, hills…" Ramsay observed the landscape, squinting to see what was farthest away.

"Tell me what you see" His father repeated, having not received the desired response.

"…nothing?" The raven-haired young man shrugged. What else was out there? Wilderness.

"The North" Roose spoke plainly. "Four miles that way—still the north. Five miles the other way? Still north. Any direction you go, you will still be in the North for a good amount of time before you reach anywhere else"

Ramsay pondered the statement briefly. The North was huge—but he knew that. He'd heard of the fall of Robb Stark, but to him it didn't matter. Sansa was not injured, so why would he care? He'd heard that his father had a hand in this, and it did disturb him slightly. Of course, because it was Sansa's brother and he cared how she would react. He didn't want her to think he personally had tried to slay his (hopefully) brother in law.

"With Robb Stark laid in the Winterfell crypts, somebody must step up and rule in his place. Now, I will take over for some time, but I am an old man. I have some virility remaining, but, Lady Walda, my fiancée, may have trouble conceiving. The only logical thing for me to do here, is to legitimize you and name you my heir" Roose explained, with not even a hint of emotion.

Ramsay knew he should feel offended that his father had planned this with such shrewdness, but he was also marginally impressed he'd planned this out at all.

"I…I'm honored, father" He responded to him, just as cold. He was so unsure of how to think right now. Sure, he hated Roose with every fiber of his body, but with him becoming legitimized, he could not only become Lord of the Dreadfort, but the semi-loving husband to Sansa Stark—Gods willing.

"From this day until your last, you are Ramsay Bolton, first of his name, and heir to the Dreadfort" Roose put his hands on his son's shoulders in an almost fatherly gesture. "And most importantly, you are my…" He took a deep breath, not believing what he was about to say "…son"

Ramsay could not believe what he was hearing. His father, accepting him as his own flesh and blood. He had a shadow of a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Maybe, just maybe, this bastard could move up in the world.

"Next thing I know, I'll be betrothed to the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros" He joked, pulling away slightly from his father.

"Of course, of course. Alliances made through marriage tend to be the strongest due to its beneficial product" Roose said, as they started back towards the castle.

Ramsay was confused for a moment. The impersonal nature of his reference befuddled the usually quite adept bastard.

Lord Bolton glanced at his son for a moment, irritated by his lack of understanding.

"Children, obviously. What's the point of a marriage without heirs?" He scoffed.

"Right, right" Ramsay nodded, feeling foolish for not realizing. He never considered being a father, due to the fact he didn't really like children. Still, if he were to marry, it would be a duty he'd have to perform to secure House Bolton.

As soon as Ramsay arrived back at the castle, Myranda was drawn over like a moth to a flame.

"Catch anything interesting out huntin'? Why didn't you invite me this time?" She inquired, wrapping her arms around him.

Ramsay slowly but firmly grabbed her wrists and moved her arms away, the proper distance for a woman of her class when in the presence of future lord.

"I have matters of great importance that may require your attention" He spoke, crossing his arms. "Follow me"

Myranda seemed confused but accepted his offer, hoping he may finally ask her to marry him. From her understanding, he was a bastard, he could marry her and it would have no affect on his status and reputation.

"Oh, do you have something special to ask?" She inquired, a tinge of hope in her brown eyes. "Or do we have some more…high profile people to deal with?"

"No, Myranda, it isn't that" He shook his head. "It's good news, though, rest assured"

"Well, spit it out then. Did you finally slit that old buzzard's throat?" She said in reference to Lord Bolton.

"That'd be a foolish thing for me to do, considering he's had a change in attitude towards me" He responded. "I'll no longer have scrounge for food, or kill just to be noticed"

"What do you mean?" Myranda asked dimly.

"I mean, my foolish child…" He swallowed hard, disgusted that he even had to use such affectionate terms with her. "That I have taken the opportunity to become the man I always knew I was. You are no longer to address me as Ramsay Snow, for I am now Ramsay Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort and essentially, your master"

"What's this mean for us then, darling? Surely you won't abandon the woman who laid out the plan for your ascension" She purred.

He leaned down towards her as a father intending to explain something to a naive little child.

"Let me put this in the simplest terms possible for someone of your standing and intellect. I am bored of you, and I no longer value your ability to…" He paused, thinking of the proper word to use to describe what exactly she'd done for him. "…entertain me"

"You can't be serious…" Myranda gritted her teeth. "I fueled everything you did. You always said it was for me. You can't forget where you came from, Ramsay. You may have a title now, but inside, you're still a bastard"

"Oh, I can forget, in fact, it seems I already have. Considering I am of noble blood, and you are the product of a whore and a beggar. I know what kind of blood runs through my veins" He drew his knife, the knife she had seen him flay people with so many times. "Maybe, it's time I see what kind runs through yours"

She did not flinch, in fact, she could feel herself growing excited at the sight of the blade. However, his tone was different. He seemed serious, more serious than he ever was before.

"Well, would you like to find out what's under your skin?" He asked, almost teasing her.

"No…Ramsay" She spoke through her teeth.

He slapped her across the face, his eyes not leaving hers.

"That's 'my lord' to you" He scolded, sheathing his knife.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I'll be off, then. I'm sure there are matters in the kitchen that require my attention…" She scampered off, like a scolded, mangy dog.

Ramsay smiled at this. Everything was working perfectly for him. All he needed was a certain red wolf.


	18. Chapter 18

The next few weeks at the Eyrie were somber, quiet, and sad. Sansa felt like she was wallowing in an emotional pit of mud, unable to wade through the sludge of melancholy. Every day felt the same; she'd wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast, play with Lady alone in her chambers, have dinner, sit in her chambers and draw, have supper, go to bed. She avoided Lord Baelish at all costs, only interacting when she absolutely had to. When she could, she had servants bring her meals to her room, so she wouldn't have to eat with him. Her eighteenth nameday wasn't at all an enjoyable occurrence- it just felt like any other day. She didn't even smile when lemoncakes were brought to her room, or when she was lavished with gifts by littlefinger. She was just miserable.

However, one day, she was called out of her den to speak with him on matters of her future. She felt a sense of foreboding. She knew her future was bleak, and she would likely have to marry some lord of the Vale who was double her age.

"Sansa," He began, smiling calmly at her. She stood frozen in place, right next to the door. "Take a seat, dear. I won't hurt you, I want to talk about your future here in the Vale"

"Right, of course" Sansa sighed and sat down across from him at his desk. "What of it?"

"I will be returning you to the North tonight, because it is finally safe enough to do so. There have been rumors that your mother and brother may have survived the ordeal now referred to as the red wedding. However, I can not confirm anything. You're the only hope Winterfell has right now" Lord Baelish explained.

"I'm…finally going home?" Sansa was elated, her eyes widening. "You must be joking!"

She couldn't believe her ears. She was returning back to the place of her birth, the place where she belonged. Her wishes had finally come true.

"No, I'm serious little dove. I need you to pack your things now, so that you'll be ready tonight. Can you do that for me, Sansa?" He asked, almost sincere in his kindness. "Go on then, sweet girl. Pack your nicest northern dresses!"

Sansa rushed off to her chambers to pack her things, stuffing all her old dresses from King's Landing and her most treasured gown from Winterfell. She thought she would wear the dress on the day they got back to Winterfell—it was still just as pretty as the day she'd sewn it. It was a soft pale blue, the neckline of the dress lined with blue rosettes. It wasn't particularly complicated—she was only sixteen, maybe even fifteen when she'd sewn it. She'd made it a little bit big for her back then, so that she could grow into it.

She would leave tonight. She might as well get changed into it—she wouldn't be able to change while on the journey.

As she got changed into her dress, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She had most certainly matured since she last lived in Winterfell—its amazing what almost two years can do. Her body was already developing into a woman, but now she'd truly blossomed. Her hips were pleasantly wide, accentuated by her slim waist. Her stomach was not toned, though. She poked it, noticing how soft she was. Instead of feeling insecure about her belly, she thought of how nice she'll be to cuddle with whenever she shares a bed with prince charming. She didn't understand why her aunt Lysa had implied she was at all fat—surely other girls had a little bit of softness. That had to be more attractive than having the abdominal muscles of a man.

She slipped into the dress and did a twirl. She really resembled her mother in her youth—elegant and hopeful dressed in a perfect shade of periwinkle. She felt so beautiful. To complete her look, she put a wreath of white roses in her hair. They weren't real flowers—she'd made them so that they'd always look perfect and in bloom.

That night, she looked innocently beautiful. In the pale light of the moon, she glowed.

"Well well, Lady Sansa, what are you all dressed up for?" Lord Baelish inquired, his eyes wide. She was so much like her mother—getting dressed up for nothing.

"I wanted to look pretty when mother and Robb see me," She explained, getting into the carriage. Lady's eyes narrowed at him, baring her sharp white teeth. The direwolf hated Petyr openly now.

Sansa herself was quite uncomfortable with Littlefinger riding with her, and had secretly requested he ride on horseback alongside the carriage. Thus, he wasn't allowed inside. Obviously it irked him—his last time with Sansa, and she wouldn't even let him near.

Regardless of where he rode, he'd at least be the one to walk her down the aisle for her wedding. Lord Bolton had requested this be the case—considering that Sansa had no living father figure that Roose was aware of.

The red wolf had no idea that she was not headed for Winterfell at all—but for the Dreadfort, to be married to newly legitimized bastard Ramsay Bolton.

"Ramsay," Roose started, approaching his bastard. "I have some news for you"

"Oh, what is it then?" He inquired, surprised that he was being approached by his father for the second time this week. He never believed that he was important enough to have any news about house Bolton shared with him. Of course, now he was his heir, so he was more important now.

"We discussed the topic of marriage a few days ago, did we not?" Lord Bolton spoke, making sure to keep his distance from Ramsay. Even if he was his heir, in his heart, he could not view Ramsay as his son.

"Yes, we did. What about it?" The Bolton heir was not particularly excited. He never believed he'd be betrothed to someone like Sansa—after all, he was still a bastard, even if he was legally naturalized. No woman could ever wish herself such shame. Then again, women rarely had a choice as to who they were going to marry.

"I have arranged for you to be married to a very important young woman" Lord Bolton began. "With her hand, we can seize power in the North much easier than we could before,"

Ramsay raised an eyebrow. "And who might this young woman be, father?"

"Sansa Stark, the younger sister of Robb Stark. She's our ticket to the Northern throne, and so you will marry her. She should be arriving here within the week," He explained it like it was just a fact, like there was no particular value of this meeting besides the bare-bones power play. In the eyes of Roose Bolton, Sansa was just a pawn in this cutthroat game and nothing more, as was Ramsay.

"Father…this is truly wonderful news" Ramsay spoke, unable to find the right words to truly express his happiness. Sansa, the love of his life, the woman he'd desired for years, was finally marrying him. The Gods have smiled upon him, blessed him with the bride of his dreams. For once he felt truly grateful.

"Treat her well, Ramsay. Do not ruin this vital opportunity. This girl is our only chance for me—you—to become King in the North. You would be wise not to scare her away" Roose explained coldly. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes father. I will not lay a hand on her in any way that may disturb her, I promise" He spoke, smiling. "She will be happy here,"


	19. Chapter 19

"Will…will he ever wake up, mum?" Rickon asked. "I miss my brother…"

He was only twelve, but he might become King in the North if Robb doesn't wake up. The littlest wolf was not ready for that responsibility.

"I think so, Rickon. I know you're worried, but I think he'll be okay…" Catelyn assured him, a hand on his shoulder. "We've prayed and taken care of him, and that's all we can do right now"

Corlisse had gone the extra mile to see her fiancé healthy. She rarely left his bedside, even slept in the room beside him.

"You know, Lady Corlisse…" Catelyn told her, holding her hand. "You're a wonderful woman for staying by his side. Many ladies, when their husbands may be on their deathbeds…don't exactly stay loyal like this"

"I know, Lady Stark, I just…I don't want to lose him. I've been telling him about every day that passes, and telling him stories from my past. I think he hears them" She explained, sighing as she stroked her husband's cheek. "I have hope he's going to make it"

"Hoping is the best thing we can do besides take care of him…" Catelyn sighed. She was losing hope herself—she began to worry he would remain comatose like this forever. It broke her heart to think he had so much to gain; a kingdom, a wife, a future.

"Mum!" Rickon called out, pointing to Robb. "Lady Corlisse, he moved his hand!"

"He…he did?" Corlisse saw his hand move a little, before her eyes traveled up to his face. His eyes…his eyes were opening. A small smile crossed his lips.

"Darling…" He breathed. "Mother…Rickon…"

Catelyn let out a cry of joy, and Rickon went to hug him. Corlisse simply covered her mouth from shock, her eyes welling with tears.

"E-easy, easy…" He winced as his brother squeezed him a bit too tight. "It still hurts…"

"O-Oh, sorry Robbie…" Rickon pulled back as he looked down in embarrassment. "I just…I missed you a lot, you know"

"Its fine, little guy. You're fine" Robb said, smiling at him. He was just so grateful to be alive right now—he could really care less if he was in pain.

"Robb…I…you're alive…" Corlisse was in awe. "I missed you—"

"Don't say another word, my sweet. I know you did…I heard every word you said" He smiled weakly. "Having you next to me made it hurt a little less"

"I'm glad…I'm glad it helped, Robb" She smiled and kissed him gently.

"Yuck!" Rickon exclaimed. "You two are gross!"

"They're engaged Rickon, and someday you'll be engaged too," Catelyn ruffled his hair. "Someday you'll wanna kiss a girl,"

"Not any day soon, that's for sure!" He crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.

"I'm so grateful to have a mother and fiancée that didn't abandon me in that hall," He started. He looked around the room. "Where's Greywind?"

"Oh, he's been sleeping outside. I don't think he could bare to see you lying there half-dead…" Corlisse explained. Almost as soon as she said that, the wolf came bounding inside.

"There he is! It's like he sensed it!" Catelyn laughed a little as the wolf came and licked Robb's face.

"Hey there boy, I missed you too!" He chuckled and weakly wrapped an arm around the canine.

"The maester said you'd be able to walk in two weeks' time, by the way…" Catelyn spoke. "Until then, I think you should just rest. It's helped you heal a lot already"

"Of course," Robb was honestly a bit disappointed that he had to be cooped up in bed—but he trusted that Corlisse, Rickon and his mother would keep him company when they could.

"And I'll be playing your nurse" His wife-to-be giggled and kissed his cheek,

"Much better than some volantian healer, that's for sure…" Catelyn rolled her eyes. "Now Rickon, I think someone has lessons to attend,"

"But mum—" The pre-teen was interrupted by his mother.

"No buts. Go to your lessons, I'm sure your tutor has something exciting to talk about," She assured. "Go on!"

Rickon sighed and left the room, but not before giving his brother one last goodbye wave.

"I wanted to ask you both something, now that Rickon is out the room," Robb started, seeming more serious. "Where is my sister?"

Catelyn sighed. This was a question she could not answer—all she knew was that the girl had escaped King's Landing. She didn't know much after that.

"Sansa is in hiding, we believe. She got out of King's Landing, though we don't really know how…" She explained. "But I have a feeling she will be safe soon, maybe even coming home to us,"


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: it has come to my attention that this chapter got kinda fucked up, but don't worry I've fixed it now. I am so sorry for the glitch, you know I do my best to provide you all with high quality content. Regardless, enjoy :)

The travel North felt brief, but mainly because Sansa had slept for a good portion of it. Sure, she'd packed books to read and even a small journal to write in, but it just didn't pass the time like a good nap could. She was very glad she'd elected not to have Petyr share the carriage with her—it helped her avoid conversation with him. That was the point, after all.

However, when they began to draw close to territory that seemed unfamiliar, she had to ask him what was going on.

"Lord Baelish?" She inquired, scooting close to the window of the carriage. "I thought you said we were going home—that castle isn't Winterfell. You didn't get us lost, did you?"

The redhead would be quite frustrated if he'd managed to screw up the directions. For a man who was revered and/or feared for his cunning, it'd be a pretty stupid decision to make.

"No, no, not at all my Lady," He was slightly offended she'd ever think he was that daft. As if he wouldn't remember where Winterfell was—he knew his way around the Seven Kingdoms better than a mere girl like her. Still, she was naïve, he couldn't fault her for that. It was time to tell her the true meaning for their adventure North. "This is your new home,"

"What?" As they approached the castle ahead, it became abdunantly clear to her that she was _not_ at all lost, and that this was entirely intentional. At the gates of this large and dismal castle, a body was attached to an X-shaped apparatus—a skinless body. Flayed. She was at the Dreadfort.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was going to marry Lord Bolton—the thought alone made her sick. He was at least twice her age, maybe older. No, he was the same age as Tywin Lannister—the thought of her having to share a bed with him disgusted her entirely. She'd been betrayed.

As they stopped in the courtyard, she was hesitant to get out the carriage. She didn't want to be here among flayed corpses and bruised servants. She'd heard the stories of Lord Bolton's bastard—a sick, disgusting man who liked to torture pretty girls like her.

"I can't believe you…" She muttered under her breath, glaring at Petyr. Lady followed her out of the carriage, snapping at his hand so that he could not even attempt to take hers. She would not let him lead her anywhere—she would be leading herself. She'd rather bring herself to her own doom than lead in by Petyr Baelish.

"You shouldn't be upset with me, my lady, I only wish to help you. He won't hurt you, I promise," Lord Baelish continued, feeling a shadow of guilt as he saw the feeling of betrayal fill those sapphire irises.

Sansa did not grant him the dignity of a response.

"Please inform Lord Bolton and his son that Lord Baelish and Sansa Stark have arrived," He asked one of the servants. She had this air of rage to her that never seemed shaken. Her brown eyes were mad—but she was the only servant who didn't seem occupied.

"Right away, my lord," She responded, crossing the yard to make her way inside.

Myranda made eye contact with the red-haired maiden – this Sansa Stark—before she entered the corridors, and in those eyes she saw something. Something that she always lacked; innocence. She hated it, and she had a deep desire to break that innocence.

"Lord Bolton" She spoke, knocking on the door of the study. "Your guests have arrived,"

She wasn't pleased to announce this, for she knew that Ramsay was to marry this redheaded girl. She knew he would be even farther away from her grasp.

"Good then, I will go down to greet them," Roose rose from his seat and moved past her, avoiding all eye contact with the lowborn woman.

"Shall I send for Ramsay?" Myranda inquired, hoping for a yes.

"No, I believe he is near the courtyard as it is. I'll see him on my way down," In reality, Roose wanted Myranda as far away from his heir as possible. Before he was legitimized he didn't care much about what they did, but now he had an image to keep up. This lowborn disgrace could not be caught anywhere near the future Lord Bolton—at least, not if Roose had any say in it.

Indeed, Lord Bolton did see his bastard on the way down the halls. He didn't like talking to the boy, but it was only polite for him to greet his betrothed.

"Ramsay, we have guests in the courtyard," He spoke commandingly. "I'm sure that whatever it is you were doing can wait,"

"She's here?" The bastard almost dropped his knife. "I was just asking the gardener to get something for her chambers,"

"Let's go, boy," The elder Bolton rolled his eyes.

Ramsay wasted no time. He headed to the courtyard like he'd die if he didn't get there. His bride awaited him there.

There she was, in a black cloak with grey fur covering a periwinkle dress. Her skin as fair as the snow that dusted the ground, her hair as bright as fire. His icy heart melted, warmed by the flames of her hair. She was even more perfect than he could imagine. She was a dream, _his_ dream.

Roose stood beside him, choosing to greet Lord Baelish rather than acknowledge Sansa.

"My lady…" Ramsay breathed, approaching her. "It is a true honor to finally meet you…you're even more beautiful than I was told you were,"

"Oh?" Sansa blushed, flattered by the compliments. "Thank you…"

"Forgive me, I haven't even introduced myself!" His mind was everywhere. He hadn't even noticed the spatter of blood on his cheek from his hunting trip earlier that afternoon. It was dried, but still noticeably, well, blood.

Sansa did take note of this. She was disturbed. His compliments had to be a farce, a way of making her trust him. She didn't want to be flayed. This wasn't the end of her story.

That's when she had a little epiphany: why would he kill her? She was too important to kill. She relaxed a little—they wouldn't want to kill an important political asset like her.

"I am Ramsay Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort" He kissed her pale, dainty hand—thought it was covered by a grey wool glove. "and more importantly, I am soon to be your husband,"

She would have been shocked, but truthfully, it made more sense to marry her to Ramsay than to Roose. The elder Bolton would certainly have trouble producing heirs—but not the youthful and healthy Ramsay. Of course he'd been legitimized, of course he was going to be her husband. It all made sense.

"Sansa Stark…" She responded, watching her breath escape her lips. In the winter air, it appeared like a little cloud.

"I'm sure you're as excited as I am, my lady. Could I show you to your chambers, help you get settled in?" Ramsay inquired, offering his arm. He wanted to appear gentlemanly, make her feel at least somewhat welcome.

"I…well, I suppose, why not?" She still held Lady's leash as she took his arm.

"Oh, I see you brought your direwolf. Isn't she a lovely thing? I have a treat for her—I'll show you the kennels, you can meet my girls and Fenrir there," Ramsay smiled, an attempt at being warm with her. It came off as a bit awkward, but Sansa was flattered he'd taken interest in her wolf. Most people disregarded the animal or saw her as a threat.

"Fenrir?" She inquired, curious as to why this particular dog was named.

"Oh, my wolf. I'm sure he'll like Lady, seeing as, well she's the only other wolf," Ramsay chuckled a little, even if the comment wasn't particularly funny.

Sansa simply followed him to the kennels.

Upon arrival, she and Lady both took note of how dark and dreary they were—just like the rest of the castle. The dogs seemed quite happy, though. Large hunting hounds, all black with dark eyes.

"There's a lot of them…Jeyne, Tansy, Rayna, Essie…" He named each hound as he passed their respective pen. He really did care deeply for these animals, even feeding them raw meat. It smelled fresh, and Sansa couldn't help but wonder what kind of meat he was feeding them—until she saw one particular hound gnawing on a human femur. She was disgusted, but held it back. She didn't want him to become offended and let her become the next meal.

"Ah, and here's Fenrir. Say hi, boy!" The wolf let out a loud, deep bark. One that shook Sansa, and made Lady's ears perk up in a gesture Sansa could only describe as a mixture of fear and curiousity. Lady barked right back.

"Her kennel is right next to his. I cleaned it up nicely, as you can see," He gestured to the inside of the kennel. It looked nicer than the other ones, more spacious. "I've got her dinner ready for her, and I even put her name on the door,"

"Oh, well that's very sweet of you, Ramsay," Sansa spoke, looking at the door. A silver plaque, 'Lady' inscribed on it. "What's she having for dinner, if I may ask? I always keep close tabs on her diet, to make sure she's healthy,"

"A mixture of meats, all good for her, don't worry. My girls and Fen eat the same, and they're healthy, aren't they?" He asked, as Lady entered her kennel. He unclipped the leash and put it on the rack where he kept all of the leashes.

"Oh, yes of course! What kind of meats?" She continued to pry.

"Oh, you know, chicken, beef, venison, prisoners…" Ramsay shrugged. "They love it. Sometimes I even add veggies for them, seems to work wonders for their fur,"

"I'm sorry, prisoners?" Sansa raised an eyebrow, shocked at his practices.

"Of course. They have to be dealt with, my lady. Don't worry—they're rarely alive when we feed them to the dogs. Usually I'm already finished with them," Ramsay explained nonchalantly. "Don't worry. They only get the finest flayed flesh,"

Sansa was silent. Maybe it was best not to comment in this particular situation.

"Now, how about I show you to your chambers now? I have something for you as well, you know" He lead her back to the castle's interior, bringing her to the finest guest suite in the castle.

"Until we wed, you can stay here. If you have any issues at all, alert me and I will deal with whoever caused them accordingly," Ramsay said, a sadistic smirk as he added the last part in. "I will see you at supper,"

He departed then, leaving her alone in the room. She looked around, smiling a little. It was very comfortable, and very much to her liking. She missed the North, everything about it. How the bedrooms looked, how warm everything felt. She finally felt at home.

She took off the fur cloak and went to place it in her wardrobe, when she noticed something on her vanity chair.

It was a beautiful gown of dark blue velvet, trimmed with white rabbit's fur. She picked it up and went to the mirror, holding it to her chest. As she did, a note fell down.

 _"Ramsay has requested that you bathe and wear this at supper this evening, along with the provided accessories"_

She was amazed. She could not stop smiling. Ramsay may be a sociopath, but he knew how to shower his lady with gifts.

So that afternoon, she did exactly as the note said. She took a luxurious bath with her favorite bath oils—lavender, naturally, and styled her hair in an elegant northern braid style that her mother wore when she was a little girl. The dress was a dream—it was off the shoulders, with an opal in the center of the neckline. The white fur trim accompanied by the dark-colored fabric was truly elegant. She wore a pearl necklace with it, her earrings matching. She felt like a princess as she twirled in the mirror, admiring herself.

Tonight, she was going to be a princess, courtesy of her fiancée.


	21. Chapter 21

Ramsay awaited Sansa in the Great Hall. He'd requested that Lord Baelish and his father not be present for tonight—he wanted to win his sweet Sansa alone, without their useless input. After all, Lord Baelish was suspicious. The Bolton bastard didn't like that _he_ would be walking her down the aisle. The way he looked at her and spoke about her made his fingers itch for his knife.

He'd done everything he could to make this night pleasant for her. He had musicians playing romantic, soft songs; a delicious meal featuring all of Sansa's favorites; and all living distractions out of the way.

Sansa walked in, and the world seemed to stop. Ramsay's eyes widened as he looked at her, by the gods she was stunning. A smile crossed his lips—he really was a lucky man.

"You look stunning, my lady," He marveled, unable to take his eyes off of her.

Her soft, pink lips curved into a smile. It made her heart flutter, hearing him be so sincere. She had learned the difference between real and false compliments by now, and she could hear that he was being completely honest.

"Thank you…" She made her way to table and sat down across from him, looking at the abundant food presented. Roast chicken, garlic potatoes, beef stew, and parsnip pie—and that was only some of the selection. She hadn't eaten this well in a while—the food at the Eyrie simply wasn't all that tasty.

"It was my pleasure, is your home now, and your happiness is a great priority," He responded, before taking a sip of his wine. "How has your evening been so far?"

"Oh, wonderful. I appreciate your gifts very much, my lord. Though, while putting on my jewelry, I noticed…" Sansa stopped a moment, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

"What, do you not like them?" Ramsay's voice grew slightly frustrated.

"Oh, no, I love them! It's just, there was a bracelet on my vanity before I got in the bath, but…when I came back to get dressed, it was gone! I apologize if I have misplaced your gift," She sighed. "Perhaps it slipped beneath the vanity,"

"If I discover that one of my servants has taken it, I will deal with them accordingly," He assured her, calming down when he heard that she enjoyed her presents. "I can't have thieves working for me, can I? I'm sure that my staff would never think to do something like that—but I will find it for you,"

"Of course not! It's completely understandable. Though, many of them are lowborn, not trained in etiquette as we are," Sansa replied, before beginning to eat her delicious meal.

"Right, right," Ramsay knew better than anyone else that lowborn women in particular were an uncivilized lot—most of them, anyways.

"Now, it'd be rude of me not to ask how you've been…" She started, smiling. Steering the conversation in his direction was easier than talking about the hardships she'd gone through at King's Landing and the Eyrie.

"Oh, yes, I suppose. I've been quite well, especially after finally being naturalized. You never know the power of a name until you go from Snow to Bolton, Sansa. It's a feeling like no other, really, knowing that you are important, that you have power and control over your life," The ex-bastard mused. "Finally having what you've been desiring and deserving of, after years and years of thinking you'd never get it,"

"It must be nice, having control over your destiny," She sighed, looking down a little. The redhead never had any say in her future—it had always been decided for her. Some days, she longed for the freedom of choice.

"Oh yes, but don't think you won't have power as Lady Bolton. You are supposed to rule by my side, not behind me," He responded. He wanted to have control over her, yes, but in the sense that she was _his_ and only his. She was free to help him in the flaying of prisoners, managing the Dreadfort and such if she so chose—he just wanted her to belong to him.

"Well, it's good to know I finally won't be used as a pawn for a political scheme…" She added. "I hope this is the last time I have to make an unexpected adventure to another part of the Seven Kingdoms for such a purpose"

"I understand," Ramsay began, looking into her eyes. "If you never want to get involved again, you won't have to," He promised. He knew that now they were to be married, that he could secure their line and possibly take Winterfell—provided Robb isn't alive and ready to fight for it.

"Thank the Gods for that!" She smiled. "You're so…"

"Different than how you imagined?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, you took the words right out my mouth…" She responded, taking a final drink of her wine.

"Stories can be deceiving. You don't think I'd hurt an innocent person, do you?" He inquired, getting up from his seat so that he could be closer to her.

"Oh, of course not," Sansa responded. Ramsay likely had a different definition of innocence than most, but for now Sansa didn't think about that.

"I wouldn't, and you know that. I wish to protect the few of this disgusting population who are truly deserving of it, you see. I just want to keep them away from the savage world we live in—it's my duty as the future of house Bolton," He smiled warmly, in a way he never smiled at anyone else. He was technically lying, but in his eyes, it was the truth. People are guilty of many things, only few are truly innocent.

As one of his favorite songs began to be played by the musicians, he offered his hand, inviting Sansa to get up from the table.

"May I have this dance?" Ramsay inquired, as the beautiful redhead got up from her seat.

"You may," Sansa responded, taking his hand. "I haven't danced in a while though, so forgive me if I'm rusty,"

"I think you'll do wonderful, my lady. You're already as graceful as a swan," He told her, bringing her to the dance floor. It was empty, save the two of them. Just Ramsay, Sansa, and beautiful music to accompany them.

He put his hand on her waist, the other still holding hers, while her free hand went to his shoulder.

Ramsay knew enough about Sansa to know her love for fairytales—surely this was like a scene straight out of one for her. He wanted her to fall in love with him just like beauty did with her beloved beast.

Sansa was enchanted by him, letting him take the lead as they continued to dance across the room. She felt like a princess—his plan was working.

"You're quite a good dancer, I must say…" She commented, gazing into his eyes.

"Oh, why thank you—personally, I think you are too…" He replied, "Just another marvelous thing about you that I can add to my list"

"You barely know me," Sansa remarked. "How am I already so marvelous to you?"

"We met once before," He started. "I suppose you don't remember?"

"Well, maybe it was once upon a dream," She giggled a little. She didn't have the greatest memory, plus, meeting Ramsay as a child wasn't exactly a monumental moment. She had no clue how much he had been impacted.

"Maybe, my lady, maybe" He responded, his voice seeming softer, with a tinge of sadness. He couldn't believe that she didn't remember their meeting. It hurt him, as he thought they'd really made a connection then. He thought it was fate. It could still be fate if she hadn't felt it, right?

They were quiet, just enjoying the sound of the beautiful song and each other's company. Sansa couldn't help but begin to fall for Ramsay a little—he was so different than how she imagined. Maybe she was easily fooled, but she really wasn't as scared of him now.

It wasn't long before the song came to an end. The pair were stood by a large window, giving them a view of the crescent-moon sky.

"I want to say something, Sansa," Ramsay started, keeping his hand on her waist. Sansa blushed slightly.

"And…and what is that?" She asked shyly. His voice was quiet, calm—but he was clearly happy.

"I know I have only known you today, but…" He pursed his lips anxiously. "I…I care very deeply about you,"

He didn't know how to say he loved her. Love was such a strong word, and though he knew he felt it, he couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't, it just wouldn't come off the tip of his tongue.

"That's very sweet of you to say," She began, unable to process what he'd just told her. It was so soon—did he really mean it when he said it? Or was he lying to gain her trust? She didn't understand, but she wanted to believe he meant it.

Ramsay was quiet a moment, before gently cupping her cheeks with his hands. Those soft, pink lips on her face—he'd longed to kiss them for so long. He couldn't help himself. He kissed her, pulling the petite redhead close to him.

Sansa gasped as he did this, but she couldn't move. She wrapped her arms back around him, enjoying the moment. She'd been kissed before, but she'd never kissed back, and now she was doing exactly that.

As she pulled back, she looked right back into his ice-blue eyes. There seemed to be a shimmer of something new in them—love.

"I shouldn't have…" He breathed, though he didn't regret it for a moment. He didn't know what regret felt like, and he didn't want to know.

"But you did, didn't you?" She responded, blushing. "It's alright…I don't mind,"

"Good, because I want us to do that often when we are married," He responded, being a bit blunt with her. "It felt wonderful,"

"Have you ever kissed a girl before?" She inquired, beginning to think it may have been his first.

"Not like that, Sansa," He explained, his face hot. "But—well, it's getting late…I suppose I could walk you back to your chambers?"

"I'd like that very much, Ramsay…" She took his arm, and they walked to her bedchambers.

"Good night, my lady," He told her, kissing her knuckles. "Tomorrow night, you will be mine,"

"Good night," She smiled slightly and closed the door. She got undressed, changing into her nightgown. She went to her vanity and searched for a moment—the bracelet was still gone. She hadn't misplaced it—it really had been stolen.

She sighed and took her hair down out of its half-braided style and brushed it, recollecting all that had happened tonight. It had to be the most magical night of her life! She was elated.

"Oh Lady, I'm so excited!" She spoke cheerily, going to call her direwolf. Then she remembered—Lady was in the kennels.

She got up and put on a robe over her nightgown and opened the door, taking a candle with her. She saw a servant passing, one who looked unoccupied.

"Excuse me, sir?" She asked, tapping his shoulder.

"Lady Sansa! You're awake!" He seemed a bit startled by her. It was a bit suspicious—she'd only gone to her room around ten minutes ago.

"Yes, it's not too late. Can you please get Lady, my wolf, from the kennels for me, and bring her to my chambers?" She asked sweetly, not showing any form of suspicion.

"Of course, I'll be back in a moment," He began to walk towards the kennels.

Sansa went back to her room, waiting patiently for her wolf. She missed her, and just wanted to cuddle her. After all, she didn't want to sleep alone in this castle. She wanted to imagine Ramsay's arms around her as she lay in bed that night. She was in love.


	22. Chapter 22

"Now, this should teach you a lesson about stealing, wench!" Ramsay said angrily, grabbing an axe. It was meant for chopping wood, but it could hack off limbs efficiently too.

"I'm sorry my lord, I just wanted to have somethin' pretty!" The woman cried out, the shimmering pearl bracelet still on her wrist. "Have mercy, please, mercy!"

"Mercy? There is no mercy for anyone who steals from me or Lady Bolton," He spoke, coldly looking at the woman whose legs were shackled with chains, her body exhausted from struggling. She'd been stealing from the Boltons for years now—but finally, she was getting what she deserved. At least, in Ramsasy's opinion.

"My lord, I will never steal again, I swear, please," She was gasping for words.

"No. I simply don't believe you," Ramsay raised his axe and brought it down, cleanly chopping the arm that held the bracelet off. He smiled a little, blood spatter reaching his cheek. The woman was whimpering, but unable to scream.

"Now, now…" He picked up the severed limb, calmly watching the nub where her arm once was bleed out. "It's quite pretty, isn't it? I can see why you stole it from her—lowborn cunts like you don't get pretty things like this, do they?" He asked as he gestured to the shimmering jewels.

The woman was silent, in shock from the pain. She couldn't respond.

"I asked you a question. Answer me," Ramsay glared at her.

"No, my lord," She choked out, shaking violently.

"Now, I think you've had enough. Come, get up," He offered his hand and began to guide the shackled, bleeding woman up the stairs from his dungeon—into the kennels. "Do you like dogs?"

"Dogs…" The battered, bleeding servant could not comprehend anything. She couldn't even scream in pain, she just mindlessly walked. It took her a moment to realize that this hell was not yet over. "Wait—dogs! Please, no…"

"How about you help me feed them?" He smiled and pushed her into a kennel where he kept his hounds. Not Lady and Fenrir—they'd already eaten. Plus, Lady was Sansa's, and he'd a feeling she wouldn't be pleased with her precious direwolf being fed live flesh.

"N-No! NO!" The woman screamed, but Ramsay didn't seem to falter one bit. He simply removed the bracelet from her severed arm and calmly pocketed it, handing the arm to Fenrir.

As the woman screamed in terror from the large mastiffs surrounding and beginning to maul her, the man sent to retrive Lady had arrived. He barely knew this place—he was older but he had worked for the Umbers up until the past few days.

"Lady…your…well, your lady wants you girl…" The man spoke, going towards the wolf's kennel. He could sense something negative about this place, something evil. As soon as he opened the door, screaming, and a bloody sight of a woman being mauled by dogs. Then he came to a sickening realization—that woman was his sister.

"What's the matter?" The Bolton inquired, as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring. "Oh—I apologize for the mess. My hounds were quite hungry today, and I happened to have caught a thief in action. Is there an issue?"

"Tansy—my…my sister…" Realization was harsh. The poor man was shaking. "You're…you're sick…" He uttered. "I shoulda known. Lord Bolton shoulda killed you when you were a wee lad—it'd be a shame for him to have a bastard like you running around…why, if I could kill you will my own two hands, I would,"

Ramsay grabbed the man by the arm, dragging him to the cage where the dogs feasted.

"Oh, this thieving whore was your sister, was she? Well, it'd be dreadful for me to separate family...would you like to join her?" He asked, creepily calm.

"No, and you can't make me!" The servant spat. "You know what I'm gonna do, boy?"

"Yes, I believe I do," Ramsay spoke, drawing his knife he loved to use for flaying. "I think you're about to die, unless you'd prefer negotiate,"

The man paused. "Negotiate?"

"Yes, I'm a patient man. Come here," Ramsay crooked a finger, as if calling a dog to him. "What's your name?"

"Kayl, my lord," The servant replied, suddenly feeling meek. The Bolton lord's calmness was terrifying.

"Ah, well, Kayl. I want to make a deal. My father and I know you've been a thief and stolen from us. I could kill you right now, you know, but I won't," He took note of the guilty expression on Kayl's face. "So, if you take back your threats, empty your pockets, and you live. Refuse, and you become meat for direwolves," Ramsay explained. "What do you say?"

"It's that easy?" Kayl asked, confused. He began to dig through his pockets, taking out a silver ring and a few other small items. "Then take 'em,"

"Good, you made a smart choice. I just want one more thing from you," He grabbed the servant harshly, smirking at the shackles on the wall. He quickly chained him up. "Your silence,"

Before Kayl could scream, Ramsay drew his knife. As soon as the servant's mouth was open he began to cut out his tongue, thus making it impossible for him to scream. It just came out as a low, gurgled noise.

"There now…you won't talk about anything now, can you?" He chuckled and threw the tongue to Fenrir, who greedily ate it. "Let's hope the blood-loss doesn't take you, I imagine you will be quite useful. Consider this your only warning,"

Ramsay sheathed his knife, then went to Lady's kennel, calmly unlocking it as if nothing had happened.

"C'mere sweet girl, c'mere!" He said, trying to make his voice less eerie and more cheerful.

Lady's ears perked up, and though she seemed less happy to see Ramsay, she knew where she was headed. He leashed her and began to walk her up to Sansa's chambers.

"I apologize if I woke you up," He spoke—as if the dog cared. "But your owner misses you, I believe. I can't imagine she wouldn't!"

Lady just followed, sniffing for Sansa's scent.

Soon enough they arrived at her room. Ramsay knocked, gently so as not to startle her too much.

Sansa approached and opened the door, gasping when she laid eyes upon him. Blood spatter upon his face, on his hands, and a glaze of malice in his eyes. She was horrified, speechless.

"What's the matter my lady? I brought her for you…" He spoke, handing her the leash. "Oh, and this,"

He took the bracelet out of his pocket, his hand smearing a bit of red blood onto the pure white pearls.

"What…what did you do?" She asked, her eyes wide as she took Lady's leash. "You…"

"Don't worry, it was for you. I did it for you. Thieves deserve punishment, Sansa," He spoke, planting a kiss on her cheek. "I will see you tomorrow in the Godswood, where we'll finally be one…"

With that, he departed, leaving Sansa with a thousand questions and ten thousand fears. She looked down at her bracelet and noticed the blood, almost shrieking at the sight. She quickly took a handkerchief from her vanity and began to remove the fresh blood as best she could from it.

She set it down, allowing it to rest on the bloody cloth. She backed down and laid in her bed. Lady joined her, resting her head in her master's lap. Sansa just began to pet her, tears welling in her eyes.

"Could I ever love someone…someone so cruel?" She asked nobody in particular. She knew that the blood on that bracelet was the blood of someone who had attempted to steal it. She couldn't be happy about the fact Ramsay had retrieved it, as much as she appreciated his gifts. There was a blood price paid for that bracelet. She began to cry—she wished that she had never noticed it was gone in the first place. Maybe if she had, he wouldn't have felt the need to commit such a heinous act.

She felt completely at fault, and so she sobbed and hoped that the Gods would forgive her for having inadvertently caused this murder. She was marrying a monster and she absolutely hated it, but at the same time she had no fear for herself. He was good to her, though she didn't know why. What had she ever done to deserve his kindness? Sansa feared she would never know.

Regardless, she fell asleep with her direwolf by her side, her cheeks stained with tears. No matter how scared she was, she needed to be well rested—for tomorrow, she would wed the beast in human skin.


	23. Chapter 23

Sansa gazed into the mirror in her chambers, looking at the gown she'd be wearing for tonight. Her wedding gown. It was beautiful, she had to admit that. Though the design was rather simplistic, it was also elegant. Even against her fair skin, the ivory fabric was still bright. Her red hair was no longer flowing down onto the back—it was tied back in a crown braid, bone-white ribbons braided in with it. No matter how anxious she was about this wedding, she could definitely feel pretty in this dress.

"You look…presentable, lady Sansa," Grumbled Myranda. She'd been assigned as Sansa's chambermaid—not by Ramsay, of course. Some higher-ranking servant in the hierarchy of workers at the Dreadfort who clearly hadn't a clue about this woman's nature had decided to assign her to assist Sansa with dressing and bathing and cleaning her chambers. Myranda felt humiliated to perform this task. She felt it was a cruel punishment to dress her ex-lover's bride for their wedding. She had done nothing but love Ramsay, and he never even loved her back. This redheaded whore, this Stark bitch, was stealing her from him.

"I suppose. I hope it's good enough for him," Sansa said, clearly quite fearful. She was trying so hard to mask her anxiety with positivity, but it fell through.

"Doubt it, nothing's good enough for him," The servant said, a glint of malice in her eyes. "Once you're popped out an heir or two and they've been weaned you'll likely be on the level of a common whore in his mind,"

"Surely not…" The fire-haired maiden shook her head. "He wouldn't…"

"Oh, but he would Sansa. And don't think your wedding night will be anything easy. I've bedded him, my dear. You won't be his first, but no wife is ever her husband's first. You know that, of course…" Myranda begin, a wicked smirk crossing her face. "But he will hurt you. It arouses him to hurt pretty little things like you…"

The servant's boyish hand went to stroke the fair cheek of Sansa Stark, soon to be Bolton. Her eyes stared right into hers, feigning pity.

"He is going to ruin you," She said, her voice intimidatingly soft. "He'll defile you, you beautiful little flower,"

Sansa's were wide, and at this point she was trying to hold back tears. Shivers ran through her body as she tried to put the fearful image of being forced on her hands and knees and raped. She knew how powerful Ramsay was, and who was she to say he wouldn't. He probably would, and this servant of his had to be a credible witness. She didn't even know Myranda, she had no clue that the real monster in the Dreadfort was this servant girl.

"Now, here then, let's add one final touch," Myranda spoke, placing a wreath of white flowers on her head. "Roses. He knew you liked roses, Lady Sansa,"

She just stared at her reflection, letting silent tears fall down her face.

"You are dismissed," She said, as Myranda left the room. She locked her door and began to sob. Lady tried her best to comfort her demure, sweet owner—but it was no use. Nothing could quell the fear in her heart.

She must have cried for a good thirty minutes, maybe an hour. She couldn't bring the tears to stop. Not until there was a knock at her chamber door.

"Who is it?" She asked weakly, her voice quiet.

"Lady Sansa," Lord Baelish spoke. "They're ready for you,"

"It's time already…" She sighed and stood up from her seat. "I suppose there's nothing left to do but…go out there…"

"Do what you must for your family, Sansa. There is no justice in this world, sweetling. Not unless we make it," He told her as he offered the little Catelyn his arm. She took it reluctantly as they made their way to the Godswood.

Twilight had just fallen upon the northern castle now, and the soft lighting of the lanterns and setting sun made her look like an ethereal beauty rather than just your average highborn lady. As she made her way outside, she saw light snow falling to the ground. Little snowflakes landed on her eyelashes and her hair as she slowly made her way down the aisle of Bolton-loyal northern lords carrying lanterns to light her way. Even in such unfortunate circumstances, Sansa found a strange beauty in this night. Were she marrying any other man, this night would be perfect. Were her father walking her down the aisle, this would be wonderful—but that wasn't the case. Petyr Baelish was walking her down the aisle, because she was going to marry the ever-confusing beast in human skin.

"Who comes before the Gods this night?" A deep voice inquired. Sansa had arrived right across from Ramsay. The ceremony had begun.

"Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully," Lord Baelish began. "She comes to ask the Gods' blessing in marriage,"

"Who brings her?"

"Petyr Baelish, Lord Paramount of the Vale. Who claims her?" He looked at Ramsay, whose heart was still recovering from seeing his bride walk towards him. She was perfect, and he was eager to claim her.

"Ramsay of House Bolton, son of Roose Bolton," He said, looking at Sansa and offering his hand. She took it nervously, holding his hand. His icy eyes had no trace of malice in this in this moment. Though he was normally cold and cruel, when he looked at his soon-to-be wife, the ice that encircled his heart melted away.

"Do you take this man?" Roose asked her, looking at her emotionlessly.

"I take this man," She spoke without even thinking about the words coming out of her mouth, without understanding what they even meant. This man, this beast, he was to be her husband.

"And do you take this woman?" It was almost like Roose didn't have to ask. He already knew what his son's answer would be.

"I take this woman," He spoke, as Sansa turned her back. He took the cloak of house Bolton and placed it around her shoulders, before taking her hands in his once more. Though Ramsay was smiling, Sansa's face was somber.

"Under the eyes of the Gods and men, these two souls are hereby sealed, bound for eternity. As you look upon one another, say the words," Roose instructed, distant as ever from his son and daughter-in-law.

Sansa found it hard to look into Ramsay's eyes, but she did. Even though she was scared, something in them comforted her. She could not place it, but she did not want to.

"I am his, and he is mine, for this day until the end of my days," Sansa was able to keep her voice calm as she spoke with him.

"With this kiss," Ramsay paused, his hand going to Sansa's cheek. He had kissed her once the day before, but this kiss right now would mean so much more. "I pledge my love,"

He kissed her, and though it was brief, it had to be the happiest moment of the former bastard's life. She even kissed him back, although he could sense her reluctancy. It didn't matter right now, she was _his_. His Sansa, his sweet, perfect Sansa.

The applause of the attendees was moderate, much to Ramsay's chagrin. Roose was not planning on anything too special for his son it seemed, but he clapped louder now in order to rouse the audience. He was not celebrating his son, however, not his worthless fool of a bastard. He was celebrating the kingdom he had gained.

With that, Sansa and Ramsay went to the great hall for the feast. He sat down at the head of the table, his new wife at this side. He didn't care if it would upset Roose—for in his eyes, his father was secondary to him on this night.

"I had these made for you, my dear," Ramsay passed Sansa a plate of lemon cakes. "I remembered how you liked them last night,"

She took one, and before biting into it, gave him a quiet, "Thank you,"

The Bolton bastard had taken note of his new wife's solemnness, and pulling her a bit closer to him, decided to make an attempt at learning why.

"Sansa, what's the matter? Aren't you happy? I'd expect your wedding to be a more cheerful occasion for you," He spoke, his tone unintentionally threatening.

"I'm happy, don't worry, I'm just…nervous too," She didn't know what other word to use.

"You shouldn't be nervous, my wife. There's nothing to fear," He kissed her cheek.

"I just…nevermind," She ate her lemon cake, trying to avoid the subject of bedding him.

"Come on, just tell me. It's not like I'm going to kill you for speaking your mind—it's not like you're some lowborn whore after all. You should be comfortable sharing your thoughts with your husband," He instructed her.

"Ramsay, I don't want to talk about it," She insisted. "It's stupid anyways,"

His brows furrowed. He knew she was stressed, though he couldn't imagine why that would be.

"Darling…" He squeezed her hand in a gesture that was trying to be loving.

She just ignored him, which frustrated him quite a bit—though he didn't expect it. It was outrageous to him that after all his efforts, he couldn't get her to trust him.

After eating their meal, the crowd of people seemed to get more rowdy. They'd had their fill of wine, and a hoarde of drunk men at a wedding usually meant one thing—they wanted a bedding ceremony. Ramsay had decided to take his leave with Sansa anyways, but gently. He offered her his arm, but before he knew it some of the soldiers were attempting to tear at her dress.

"H-Hey! Quit that! Let me go!" Sansa exclaimed fearfully, feeling a part of the fur on her dress being torn.

"Release her," Ramsay commanded, glaring at them as if these men were nothing but misbehaving hounds. "I am the only one who gets to see her undressed. There will be no bedding ceremony for this wedding,"

The drunk men groaned, but let Sansa go. Ramsay was much too scary a man to deny him his wishes.

"It's alright, darling. They will not touch you like that again," He scooped Sansa up and began to carry her upstairs. She didn't resist—quite the opposite in fact. She clung to him.

"Thank you…" She whispered, resting her head on his chest.

"It's no trouble, my love. It would be quite humiliating for the both of us if my men had seen you undressed. You are mine, and they should recognize that…" He tucked a strand of stray red hair behind her ear.

"All mine," He spoke softly as he kissed her forehead.


	24. Chapter 24

Summary: this is the chapter where they fuck.

Ramsay brought her into their chambers, laying her down on the bed and locking the door. Fear was apparent in her eyes.

"Is this what you were nervous about?" He asked, taking off the fur cloak he'd worn outside and laying it on the back of a chair.

Sansa simply nodded, sitting up a little on the bed.

"You've never been with a man before, have you?" He smirked a little, going to sit beside her. He began to take her hair down, smiling as the red curls bounced and fell to the middle of her back.

"No…" She spoke, averting her gaze. "I haven't,"

"It's alright, I'm happy about that. You were good to save yourself for me," He said, beginning to go and untie the front of her dress.

"It would be a dishonor to my family if I wasn't a virgin on my wedding night, my lord—" A finger was pressed to her soft, plush lips.

"I told you, you can call me Ramsay," He instructed, before kissing her. He pulled her onto his lap, his hands on her waist.

"I…" She pulled back from the kiss, happy she was still dressed. "Please don't hurt me Ramsay, please…"

"Now Sansa, I don't know what kind of man you think I am, but I can assure you the worst you'll get is some sore legs…" He was a bit confused. Sure, he had a little sadistic side when it came to sex, but he'd never want to hurt Sansa. Well, unless she was into that.

"Please don't hit me, don't cut me please! I know you've done it to girls before, please don't do it to me, please!" Sansa began to cry.

"Now now, calm down my love, I would never do such a thing…" He assured her, pulling her close and stroking her hair. "Not to you,"

"Myranda told me you would. She told me you'd shove a blade in me, that you'd make me black and blue!" She sobbed, her hands going to cover her face.

"Shh…" He began to rock her back and forth slightly, remembering how it used to relax him when he was a scared young boy. "I would never dream of doing such things to you, Sansa. Myranda is wrong, I would never. Not to my wife,"

"Promise me," Sansa spoke, her eyes staring right into his. "Promise me right now,"

"By the old Gods and the new, I will not harm you," He told her. He never thought his wedding night would amount to this.

"Now, I want to see you…" He smiled and stood up with her, having her face the mirror. "All of you…"

Sansa allowed him to undress her, grateful that he was careful not to rip her dress. He bit his lip as he admired her curvy form. She was even better than he'd imagined; every part of her was just…wonderful.

"I could never blemish a perfect body like this with scars and bruises…that would be a sin in and of itself, wouldn't it?" He grabbed her hips from behind, pressing himself against her. "Well, maybe I could—but just a bit,"

He began to kiss and nip at her neck, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He had waited so, so long to have her, and now she was his. He would leave hickeys on her neck—he had to mark her as his. His lady Bolton, his Sansa.

"You are so, so beautiful…" He mused, one of his hands going to fondle her breast. "You must know that, don't you?"

Sansa blushed, beginning to feel a warmth inside of her as he touched her and kissed her. She'd never felt this before—it was an entirely new, exciting feeling. A little smile was growing on her face.

"Oh, you do know, don't you my sweet?" Ramsay's voice was dripping with lust as he pushed his bulge against Sansa's ass. "You have to know how much I want you…"

"I think I do know…" She replied, turning around and wrapping her arms around him. Something in Sansa was drawing her to do things she never thought she would, she began to start getting him out of his clothes as well, kissing him all over. "I know so, so well…"

Ramsay was surprised, but not at all disappointed. She was kissing his lips, his jawline, moving to his neck. He would have never expected this from the sweet, petite redhead. However, he'd only let her be so forward for a while. He preferred to have total control over his partners, especially a virgin like Sansa.

"How about I show you something…we don't want this to go too quickly, do we?" He asked, smirking as he began to undress.

"Oh? What is it?" Sansa pulled away, slightly confused.

"Lie down on the bed, and spread your legs…" He started, watching her as she obeyed. As those thick, soft and pale thighs spread, her got a glimpse of her pussy. Pink, pale, and as of recently, glistening with a hint of arousal. He was restraining himself to not pin her down and fuck her right there.

"I want you to touch yourself…have you ever done that?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"What do you mean?" She asked curiously as she shook her head. Clearly, if she didn't know what it meant, she hadn't done it.

"Well…you know, pleasured yourself. Made yourself cum," He explained. Seeing Sansa shake her head once more, he realized he would need to teach her.

"It's okay, I suppose you were raised in a very…pure environment. Ladies like you don't always explore themselves," He spoke, looking her up and down and gently guiding her face to look at him. "It's alright Sansa, I think you'll find this fun…"

"Alright…what do I do?" She asked shyly, her breaths light and indicative of her arousal. He kissed her cheek.

"Now, I'm going to guide you, but I imagine you'll get the hang of it quite quickly, my little pup," He chuckled lightly and placed his hand on top of hers. It was so dainty, smaller than his own.

He began to guide her hand down her body, feeling his pants strain as he admired her. Her big, pale tits were beautiful, her nipples hard from stimulation and cold air.

Her hand moved past her breasts, down her soft stomach, and soon he reached her cunt.

"Just feel it for now, touch around your pussy," He instructed, slowly moving his hand away.

Sansa bit her lip as she felt around, her fingers gently pressing against her lower lips. It was exciting to do this, something about it felt naughty in the best way possible. She found her clit, and began to gently stroke the nub, gasping in pleasure.

"There, now keep doing that…" Ramsay spoke, watching her as began to finally get his trousers off, his eight-inch cock hard from this little show. "And don't feel like you need to be quiet,"

"F-Fuuuuck…" She whined to herself, starting to feel herself grow more aroused. Her cunt was warmer now, more sensitive to touch. She felt like she had to keep touching herself—she absolutely loved this sensation.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked, beginning to stroke himself. "I know I am,"

"Gods yes…" She responded, her mouth unable to stay fully closed. "I can't believe I've never done this before,"

"Well, you really won't have any need for it now that we're married—at least, unless I'm busy and can't be there to pleasure you myself," He approached the bed and sat beside her, letting go of his twitching, throbbing cock and just admiring her for a moment.

"Show me how you're going to do that," Sansa requested, taking her hand away from her clit. "Please…"

"Sit up then," He instructed once more, moving his face between her legs. "I'll show you alright,"

Before Sansa could speak, he was kissing her lips—but not the ones on her face. She gasped a little, her legs quivering as his tongue flicked her clit. Her face was red-hot once more.

"R-Ramsaaaay…" She whined, "Don't…don't stop, please…"

Ramsay had no intention of stopping, at least not right now. He was enjoying her taste far too much. She was ever-so-slightly sweet in taste, probably because she ate so much fruits and sweet desserts. He'd have to keep her on such a diet; he wanted to taste her every night from now on.

The petite redhead's thighs soon wrapped around his head, encouraging him to stay in place and kiss her like never before. Her hips grinded against his face, a bit too eager for this feeling.

"I need this, I need you," She cried, a knot forming in her stomach as the heat between her thighs grew more intense. "R-Ramsay I'm gonna—"

Her legs were loose enough for him to come right back up from eating her out. He knew she was close, but he wanted to tease. She needed to be completely desperate for him.

"No no, not yet. It's my turn now," He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his cock still standing straight up. "You've got to pleasure me too,"

Sansa did as she was told, getting up and kneeling down. She figured he must want the same thing he gave her—seeing as he didn't have a cunt, though, she'd have to improvise.

"Now I want you to—" Ramsay was cut off when Sansa ran her tongue up his cock, base to tip. He shuddered in pleasure.

"Sansa…you know more than I thought…" He marveled, smirking down at her and putting his hand on her hair.

She nodded, kissing the head of his cock and taking him into her mouth—or at least, what she could fit.

"That's a good wife…" He spoke softly, gripping her fiery tresses. "Lower,"

He demanded it, but as Sansa tried to move further down, she gagged and coughed.

"I said, _lower_ ," He growled. "You're a good little wife, aren't you? Listen to your husband,"

' _This is where her training begins_ ' Ramsay thought to himself. He was restraining himself—if she were a common whore, he would just throatfuck her and not care at all if she was crying and hardly able to breathe.

Sansa pulled back, apprehensive. She didn't think she would be able to fit it all.

"Come on Sansa, you can do it. Just take as much as you can," He told her, grabbing her hair and guiding her himself.

Sansa gulped and began to take him into her mouth once more, easily making it down to around four inches. However, Ramsay wanted to push for her to make it all the way down to the hilt, so he began to force her farther. His cock twitched more as Sansa struggled and gagged, getting turned on by the tears in her eyes.

She was struggling to take all of him, but she wanted to make her husband happy. Plus, she could feel her reflex relaxing a little now, even though tears welled in her eyes from instinct.

"Good, good, you're almost there," He told her, finally seeing her pretty lips all the down at the base of his cock. "Now, I think you need a bit of guidance from me, so…just hold still,"

He smirked and stood up, Sansa moving to accommodate him a bit. He still held her head, but now he was thrusting in and out of her mouth gently. She winced as he pulled her hair, but she actually didn't mind it. The pain was arousing, so much so that a few muffled moans escaped as he used her mouth as a fuckhole.

This went on for about a minute, but Ramsay knew he needed to have self-control. If he kept on like this, he'd waste his precious seed on a hole that couldn't produce him an heir. He pulled out of her, now petting her hair instead of pulling it.

"Wonderful work," He breathed, "But now is time for the main event,"

"Alright…" Sansa stood back up, as Ramsay gazed at her perfect body once more.

"Hands and knees. Now," He demanded.

Sansa looked at him with confusion. She didn't want her first time to be taken from behind as if she were a whore.

"What's the matter?" He asked, looking at her with a little bit of frustration. "Did I not make myself clear?"

She looked at him and shook her head, going to place her hand on his cheek.

"I heard you, but…" She paused, her voice gentle and soft. "I want to look at my husband as he makes love to me,"

Ramsay was taken by surprise. He'd never had a woman request this of him—no girl ever wanted to look with a bastard as they were being fucked by him.

"Please…I want this, but…I want to know that I'm loved…" Sansa said, a gentle smile on her face.

He nodded, picking her up and gently laying her on the bed. He got on top of her, beginning to kiss her neck gently once more, his cock's head right at her virgin pussy.

"Alright my love, you're ready?" He suddenly felt like he needed to be gentle, like he had to handle her as one would handle a delicate flower.

Sansa nodded, her legs on either side of him.

"I love you, Ramsay," She spoke, kissing his cheek.

With that, Ramsay could no longer deny himself. He began to push into her, kissing her gently in hopes that it would help the slight pain of her virginity being taken subside.

Sansa kissed him back, her arms around him as his cock finally penetrated her maidenhead, breaking it and thus making her his. She winced and whimpered a little. Kissing him did help the pain, but it still lingered.

There was a bit of blood on his cock now, but he didn't mind. This was not the first virginity that Ramsay had taken, but it would most certainly be the last.

He was gentle with her for now, kissing her all over.

"Mine," He would say against the fair skin of her neck. "My wife, mine,"

Sansa didn't mind his talk one bit, in fact, she enjoyed it. She ran her fingers through his hair and, when he wasn't kissing her, would gaze into his eyes. Without a word spoken, she was telling him that she loved him.

Ramsay was finding it very hard to resist pounding her pussy, and soon started to get just a bit rougher with her. He just couldn't deny himself that need any longer. She was his now, his wife, his little slut.

She whimpered a bit as she felt him thrust into her harder, moaning out as he did.

"G-Gods!" She yelped, biting her lip. "Ramsay!"

"You like it, don't you? You little whore," His urges were taking over, his hand going to her neck.

"Fuuuck…I-I…" She looked up at him, her eyes glazed with lust. "I do, I fucking do!"

"I know, you nasty little slut," He began to put a little pressure on her neck—not enough to knock her out, but enough to restrict her breathing just enough to make her acutely aware of her place. "I'll bet you wanna be knocked up, don't you?"

She nodded, tears of pleasure forming in her eyes as he kept fucking her like the whore she was. She never thought she would've been so aroused by this, but here she was, submitting to him and letting him hurt her. This kind of pain though, it was different. She loved it when he choked her, when he called her a whore.

"Y-Yes, p-please! I want to carry your seed!" Sansa cried out, beginning to feel that familiar heat from when he was eating her out. "I need it!"

Ramsay continued to pound her cunt, feeling sadistic pleasure as she teared up and struggled to breathe. She was perfect like this, perfectly beautiful and perfectly slutty. How he loved corrupting his pretty little Sansa.

"Oh I will, I'll make sure you give me an heir," He told her, loosening his grip on her neck a little so that he could see her gasp for air. "I'll fuck you every night until you do, whore,"

Sansa loved hearing him be mean in this setting. There was just something so hot about being at his mercy. She could cum just from this.

Ramsay could feel her insides tightening now, he could feel how badly she wanted to cum. He wanted to as well, but he would hold himself back. ' _Not yet_ ,' He'd tell himself. ' _Make her beg,_ '

She felt as if her mind was completely clouded by pleasure, as if her only desire was to be fucked ruthlessly by her husband. Poor thing was desperate to cum, but she felt like had to wait. Oh, she wanted it, but she knew better than to just orgasm without permission.

"I know you're close, don't act like you aren't," He growled into her ear, "Maybe I'll let you, if you beg enough,"

"Please, please, I want to cum," She was unable to hold back her sheer need for release.

"You want to? No, no, I think a little slut like you is more desperate than that," He told her, unwincing at the harsh tone he used. "You can do so much better, and you know it,"

"I can't take it!" Sansa cried out, her tongue unable to stay completely in her mouth now. "I need to cum, Ramsay, please let me cum!"

"You have my permission—" He paused, biting his lip. "When I cum, you can cum, little pup,"

She whimpered, not realizing that he was so close. She was so mentally clouded with lust that she hadn't even realized that he was at his edge too.

Ramsay gripped her hips tightly, having let go of her throat. He pushed in deep and finally allowed himself to release the tension in his balls, filling her to the brim with his cum. When Sansa felt Ramsay cumming, she was finally allowed her releasee and came right with him, crying out his name in pleasure loud enough for the entire Dreadfort to hear.

"F-FUUUUUUUUCK! RAMSAY!" She clung to him tightly, panting hard as they both began to come down from their climaxes.

"You seem to have enjoyed yourself, my darling," He spoke, a little worn out himself. He kissed her forehead. "I'm happy,"

"Y-Yeah…that was…that was amazing…" Sansa responded, completely breathless. "I love you, Ramsay…"

His heart skipped a beat. Those words—he'd heard them from her not too long ago, but right now, they meant so, so much. He kissed her again, pulling out of her and bringing her close to him.

"I love you too," He responded, his arms around her. "I love you so, so fucking much,"

Sansa yawned and rested her head on Ramsay's chest, beginning to fall asleep. After her first time, it was only natural that she be exhausted. She felt something other than exhaustion, though. Tonight Ramsay had proven to her that he would not hurt her, and that he loved her truly. In his arms, she felt safe. She was finally in love, and Ramsay, well, he finally had his dream come true…

But dreams do not come so easy, as the pair will soon come to find out. Not easily at all.


	25. Chapter 25

The newlyweds had slept peacefully throughout the night, Ramsay never letting go of his beloved bride. Nothing could take her from him now, she was his and only his.

He'd awoken before she had, squinting a little as the bright rays of the sun peeked in through the curtains. Seeing Sansa's sleeping face made the corner of his mouth tug into a small smile. She looked radiant in the morning light, her fair skin glowing a little. She was still clinging to him too, and seemed to whimper when he tried to sit up as if to beg him not to leave her side.

Ramsay just ran his fingers through her red curls, made messy by sleep and their previous activities in the night. He could see she was happy, and it made him feel warm inside to know this.

Eventually, Sansa's eyes began to flutter open, her husband's face being the first things she'd see as she awoke. She sat up and yawned, holding the furs up to her chest modestly.

"Mm… morning…" She spoke sleepily, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

"Good morning yourself, pup," He responded, kissing her cheek. "Slept well, I hope?"

"Mhmm, yeah, I don't even wanna get out of bed!" Sansa laid back once more, quickly curling up in the furs to shield herself from the cold air.

"Oh, but I had things planned for us to do!" Ramsay said, looking out the window. The skies were mostly clear, clouds being mostly absent on this chilly day. "You would want to miss out on riding, would you?"

"Riding?" Sansa sat up a little, letting the blankets just fall and allowing her perky tits to be exposed. Her nipples hardened at the cold air. "I'm not particularly good at that…"

"You aren't, are you?" Ramsay's eyes moved to her curvy form once more. Gods, how could he _not_ want to stay in bed all day with her.

"It's alright," He reassured, laying back against the pillows behind him. "I can show you how to ride well, my dear,"

"Oh? Then I suppose I should get dressed…" She threw the blankets off of herself and went to get out of bed, but he grabbed her arm instead.

"We can practice in here," He insisted, a smirk curling on his lips. "If you like,"

Sansa bit her lip, beginning to catch on to what he was saying now. A blush came to her cheeks as it had the night before, but she'd be an idiot to deny herself this. After all, Ramsay had made her feel so good the night before, what was the harm in another chance to feel such pleasure?

"Come on now Sansa," Ramsay's cock was already hard, forming a bit of a tent beneath the blankets. "I'll show you,"

Sansa smiled and took the blankets off of him so that she could more easily access him, placing her soft thighs on either side of him. She was hovering above him, a bit nervous to do this once more. Last night had felt divine, but she was still an innocent girl at her core.

Ramsay took hold of her hips, gently guiding them down so that he could get inside that tight little cunt of hers once more.

"I know you want this," He spoke, getting more into his sadistic side once more. "Say you want it,"

"I-I want it," Sansa breathed, feeling the head of his cock at her fuckhole which only grew needier by the moment.

Ramsay was beginning to get more daring and the bastard removed one hand from her hips to grab her face.

"What do you want, pup?" He practically growled the words.

"I-I…" Sansa paused, getting more excited as he grabbed her and teased her. "I want your cock inside me…"

"Good girl, good girl," He pet her hair and let go of her face, the hand going back to her hips. He began to guide her down onto his cock, making her feel every inch as he did so.

Sansa's moans were like music to his ears; they were sweet, and yet very, very lewd. Once he had her down to the hilt, he kept guiding her, wanting to get her used to the feeling of riding him before doing it on her own.

"See, riding isn't so hard," he explained, "All it takes is practice, and trust me you'll practice,"

"Oh, I c-can't wait!" She cried, feeling him release his grip on her hips and starting to move of her own volition. "I love this!"

"Yeah? Well you'll do it for me every morning, my little whore," he spoke, a hand going to grab her neck. "Tell me Sansa, what are you?"

"I-I'm a little whore," She moaned, before feeling his grip tighten around her neck.

"Wrong answer, you're _my_ little whore," He growled. "Say it now, correct yourself,"

"I-I'm your little whore, Ramsay," She began to ride him harder, getting more aroused as she degraded herself for him. "I'm Ramsay's whore!"

"Yes, you are," He kept holding her neck, making sure not to make her pass out from too little oxygen. He'd learned from previous experience how to do such things. "You are my little whore, Lady Bolton,"

"F-Fuck yeah…" Sansa was beginning to feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm now, bouncing up and down on his cock in hopes that she could cum faster.

Ramsay could tell that his beloved was getting close and began to loosen his grip on her neck. Gods forbid he make her pass out or something of the sort.

"You wanna cum, don't you?" He acknowledged, smirking. "Helpless little thing you are, so desperate to cum, I don't know if I should let you,"

"P-please…please let me…" She whined. "I need to…"

"I like you begging. Do it more," Ramsay growled.

"Please let me cum, please! I wanna cum all over you!" She cried, trying her best to hold herself back from doing what she so deeply desired to do.

He began to feel himself throb inside of her. He'd let her get release—but only after he did.

"You wanna cum, do you? Well, you can't. Sluts don't get to cum until master does," He told her, getting really into this dominant role. He'd enjoyed domming Myranda in the past, but this, this was even better. The woman of his dreams, right at his fingertips.

"N-No, please, I need to now!" Sansa was struggling more and more every minute.

"You're to listen to me. Keep riding me and I'll let you, but if you cum before you're allowed, I'll have to punish you," His eyes pierced into her soul, making sure that Sansa knew he meant business.

"I-I'm doing my best, master, I am," She just kept riding, until she felt Ramsay pull her hips down hair. She felt him shoot his load inside of her, panting a little as he did. She came as soon as she felt it, thanking the Gods for creating orgasms.

"F-fuuuuuck!" She moaned, her legs quaking and her head thrown back. She looked so beautiful like this. The morning sunlight made her fair skin have an almost heavenly glow, her messy curls truly appearing like flames. "Ramsay…"

"You enjoyed yourself, I can tell," He smiled and sat up so that he could kiss her.

"Mhmm, I did…" She kissed him right back, fingers running through his dark curls. "Why wouldn't I enjoy doing this with you?"

"Well, some people are boring, Sansa," Ramsay chuckled and held her close. "But you, you aren't. You're quite exciting,"

"I would never want to bore you, my darling," She spoke softly. She was so kind, so innocent, she had no clue what other things she may need to maintain his entertainment.

"Well, I told you I was going to take you riding, and while I certainly think you did great on me, let's get you on a horse," He spoke as Sansa got off of him, patting her butt as she walked to go and get dressed.

Ramsay got up as well, putting on his riding clothes and making himself presentable enough. He turned to see Sansa in a more casual ensemble—her favorite pale blue gown with rosettes on the neckline. He could tell it was her favorite just by the way she smiled at herself in the mirror.

"Ah, looking at the most beautiful lady in the North?" He asked as she sat down and began brushing and braiding her hair.

"Oh, no, just Lady Bolton," Sansa giggled a little, tying her braid with a blue silk ribbon.

"Oh, but she _is_ the most beautiful lady in the North, and anyone who disagrees is horribly wrong," Ramsay told her. "I'll kill them if they deny it,"

"No need for that, Ramsay, please," She began worriedly. "There's no need to hurt anyone,"

"If they can't accept that you're perfect, they don't deserve the privilege of living," He responded matter-of-factly. "That's just how it is, Sansa,"

"But—nevermind," She knew better than to push the argument further. "I guess I just care too much about others…"

"You're a sweet girl, that's part of the reason I love you so much, it's just not everyone is as sweet as you. I only want to protect you," He explained as she stood up. "Come on, let's go get saddled up,"

The couple headed to the stables, where Snowfall and Blood awaited them. Stablehands lead the mare and stallion out for them already in their nicest tack.

Sansa walked to Snowfall and pet her gently, happy to see her mane nicely brushed. She was pleased to see they took care of them.

Ramsay helped her up onto Snowfall before mounting Blood.

"Now, follow me Sansa, I want to show you the most beautiful parts of our forests," He spoke, making sure that wherever they go she didn't have to see rotting corpses or bones. He knew better than to allow her to see such things.

So the two rode out into the woods, and the scent of pine and petrichor all around. It was something she felt like she hadn't experienced since Winterfell; peace. Deer and other gentle forest creatures roamed throughout this place, and although the woods were thick, where sunlight shone it was beautiful and bright.

Out of the corner of her eye, though, she could have sworn she saw something strange—a skull, one with an arrow piercing right through the eye socket. Surely she imagined this. She heard that Ramsay hunted humans for fun, but that had to be wrong. She didn't want to believe that such things happened, but deep down in her heart of hearts, Sansa knew that Ramsay was sick. There was a dog in his heart, and it craved only one thing; blood.


	26. Chapter 26

"Uncle Petyr?" Robin said as Lord Baelish finally arrived. "Uncle Petyr, I was all by myself!"

"I know you were, sweet Robin, but it's alright—I'm here now, aren't I?" He spoke, opening his arms to the little boy. "Come here, give me a hug,"

Robin ran into his arms and hugged him tight, smiling warmly.

"I missed you, without mother it's so lonely. What happened to her?" The child asked innocently.

Petyr sighed and gently knelt down to the boy's level, a hand on his shoulder peering deep into his brown eyes.

"Well, Robin, your mother…your mother went mad. She attacked Sansa, and, well, I'm sorry to say, but I couldn't stand for it. I had no choice, Robin, it was either Sansa or your mother. As much as I loved her, Sansa is an innocent child. I had to protect her, it is my duty to her mother, your aunt Catelyn. Gods rest her soul," He would not sugar-coat what happened to Lysa. It was time that Robin became a man anyways, he could not just latch on to his mother's bosom until she keeled over.

"What…" The child's eyes went wide with shock and heartbreak. "She's…dead?"

"Yes, I'm afraid she passed. But don't worry, Robin, for even though she is gone, I'm here. I will take care of you and the Vale as the Lord Paramount. I care about you, more than your mother ever could. I'll protect you just like I did Sansa, my son,"

"Why did she have to fly?" The young boy's eyes began to well with tears.

"Who could make sense of the choices of a madwoman? She left me no choice. You care about your cousin too, don't you? Family is so important, she is your family though not an Arryn. She had Tully blood running through her veins, just like you. Would you have allowed her to die? Your mother would've been guilty of kinslaying, and violating guest right. She would've been cursed forever among Gods and men. I was offering her mercy, Robin, you don't understand" Petyr continued.

"M-my mother wasn't evil, Uncle Petyr, she was…she was nice…" He whimpered, still clinging to him.

"She wasn't evil, my sweet boy, lost," He stoked the dark hair of his stepson, cradling him in his arms. "She was weak, lead down a path that neither you nor Sansa could follow her down. Please understand, this was the will of the Gods,"

"But…but she loved me…" He sniffled.

"I saw something in her eyes when she looked at you. She attacked Sansa, but I fear that if I had not done what I needed to do, then…then you would have been next. That is not something that I will allow for, Robin, you deserve much better than her," Petyr assured.

"Who will be my mother now?" He asked, sniffling. "I want a mother,"

"Oh Robin, Sansa will come back, and she will be your mother. She'll care for you and love you, even more than your real mother did or ever could. She's stronger, and she would never succumb to what Lysa—your mother had," He held the boy as if he was his own son, meanwhile not caring truly about his fate. He was just a pawn in this game, too infantile to truly comprehend what was happening right now. So easily, just like his mother. "Now, until Sansa returns to be the mother you deserve, be strong for me. If you stay on the path I've set for you, you will become just as powerful as I. You'll have a lovely wife and many sons and daughters who adore you. You'll be very clever man,"  
"I'll do my best, uncle Petyr—" He was cut off by the older man.

"Please, call me father," Lord Baelish insisted.

"Alright, father, I'll make you proud," Robin promised, heading in the direction of his room.

"I know you will," Petyr responded, making his way towards the study. He had business to attend too now.

Sitting down at his desk, he grabbed a quill and some parchment. It was time to send the King in the North and update on his sister's whereabouts. He dipped the quill in ink and began to write.

' _My dear brother,_

' _I write to you in my darkest hour. Unbeknowst to our mother's friend and my protector Lord Baelish, I have been wed to a monster. I was engaged to Ramsay in hopes that the wedding would incite peace between our houses, however, there is no peace here. Since I have wed him, I have been nothing but a pair of holes and an object on which to take out his rage. My skin is riddled with bruises and cuts and I feel ugly and weak. I need your help. I understand you may not be in the best of health, but please, if you can send soldiers, I need you to. I don't know if I'll survive this. I'm scared. I don't want to have his child but I'm terrified that if I'm not pregnant with this creature's spawn now, I will be soon. Please Robb, I don't know if I'll even be able to send a letter after this, for I'm sure he'll beat me just for writing this one. I love you so much, and I am in desperate need of your aid. I fear without your intervention this will be the last you hear of me, and neither I nor you want that._

 _Love, Sansa'_

Petyr smiled at his work, folding the letter and slipping into an envelope. With this letter sent out, Robb would have to take action for his sister. After all, she was in danger. He's required to help his family, he couldn't have her blood and suffering on his hands. Melting the wax and sealing with his sigil, the raven was sent to Winterfell. Only time will tell when this will get out to Robb, but he was finally writing his story. He would be a hero in the eyes of the Starks, and hopefully, Robb would kill Ramsay and have Sansa marry Petyr instead.

He looked out the window and noticed the lightest bit of snow falling outside. It hadn't snowed here in years, but he could feel a chill in the air. The little flakes dusted the windowsill and sparkled in the evening sky like diamond dust.

"I guess it's true what the Starks say," He muttered to himself. "Winter's coming,"


End file.
